Paper Faces on Parade
by Sketchy Cannabis
Summary: Draco pursues his mystery girl after a ball that's arranged to marry him off. Hermione finds herself thinking that maybe Draco isn't all he seems... and somewhere in the middle is Blaise and Remus. Summaries are for pansys. Light slash in some chappies.
1. I am not alone

Paper Faces on Parade

**Rating**: M

**Pairing**: Hermione / Draco

**Summary**: Draco pursues his mystery girl after a ball that's arranged to marry him off. What follows is a dark plot involving switching sides, backstabbing, and perhaps a bit of romance?

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these characters. The chapter names are credited to Jasmine Ash, a wonderful singer. Much love.

9/1/06 – Sketchy Cannabis

Chapter One – I am not alone

Draco sighed. His mother was _still_ going on about the damn masquerade. Draco covered his eyes with his hand and muttered lowly beneath his breath, not caring whether she heard him or not, "Please, you stupid cow, SHUT UP." His last words were spoken prominently and clearly, his teeth grinding as he resisted lashing out physically.

His mother promptly cut her ramblings short and busied herself in her own room, preparing her outfit. Lucius, however, only gave a low grunt, and looked to Draco from his chair. "Be nice, boy. You know she's just doting in her own way."

Draco bared his teeth at his father and snarled his words out, "I haven't been a boy in years, _father_." He stood, stalking from the room and just walking, wanting to get out. His 'father' hadn't ever been a father, so Draco thought he was doing well, at least.

Now a full grown man, Draco stood at a good height, his frame still lithe and svelte from quidditch. Though it'd been years since he'd been on a formal team, he still played often enough to reap the benefits from the sport. He was 22 now, just tasting the freedom of adult hood. Though he'd never moved from his parents, he still held his own domain within the household.

The war had gone wonderfully, and Draco's father had managed to help quite a bit, once they'd gotten him out of Azkaban. Though he was admittedly denounced for his little 'boo-boo's, as Draco referred to them, Lucius had eventually delivered Potter and his minions to Voldemort. Potter was dead, as were many others from Draco's Hogwarts days. Not that Draco really minded – he'd never been close to many of them, anyhow. Snape, the traitorous bastard that he was, had redeemed himself as well, by killing off Dumbledore and helping in other various ways.

And now the Malfoy's owned the world, so to speak. They had major investments in all worthy aspects (and all aspects were worthy these days, because if they weren't, well, they were taken care of) and they had more influence and power than any other family. Pureblood, regal, pristine – they were the epitome of Voldemort's dream.

And the Zabini's weren't far behind them. Blaise's father had been… tragically… killed. Though that was never the word Blaise used. But that was how the current wizarding world had viewed it. Theodore Nott and his family had made out rather well, too. So the people that mattered to Draco had survived. Luckily, Pansy hadn't. Wasn't that just charming?

Still fuming and wanting to kill something, Draco stalked down the lushly decorated hallway. He was out to find his only trusted friend to discuss his mother's little masquerade party with. And by discuss, he meant break things.

* * *

Blaise rested languidly on a chair, his legs flopped out over the arm and his body slouching visibly down into the cushion. His room was plush, decorated in dark greens and silver tones. Blaise had always had such an affinity for Slytherin house colours. He glanced to Draco with his eyes half-closed as he nodded at him to come in. Blaise was used to Draco's sporadic and sometimes inconvenient drop-ins. Blaise's dark eyes peered at him with practiced study from behind strands of hair. His olive complexion and smooth skin were set off by his slightly feminine features and his brunette hair. He was Draco's opposite in many ways, but that made them an attention grabbing pair, which was okay for Blaise. He liked attention. 

"The masquerade ball in full swing, I assume?" Draco had been fuming about that ball for weeks now, as his mother's own interest had raised. Draco grunted in return, and Blaise took that as a yes. Draco had soon flopped onto Blaise's bed, his eyes staring blankly at the canopy as he turned his head to look at Blaise. His pale blue eyes were flashing with something that made Blaise a little nervous. He shifted a bit and watched Draco, waiting to see what he'd do.

"You do realize what they're doing." Draco's voice was quiet as he looked at Blaise with some pain in his voice before his head turned and he was again looking at the canopy, his eyes lazily tracing the curves and contours of the fabric that billowed out so gracefully.

"Yes." Blaise knew well that they were playing matchmaker. Jealousy bit at him as he thought about it, but he knew why. Draco was at the age for children. He should be settling down into a nice, prearranged marriage with a lovely, submissive pureblood woman by now and frantically reproducing.

Draco lifted his fist before slamming it onto the bed in frustration. "I don't want them, Blaise. I don't."

Blaise, graceful and nimble, lifted himself from the chair and moved to Draco, his eyes showing a bit of pity, but none of the jealousy or pain that flickered in and out of him. Blaise curled up on the bed, near Draco, but not enough to be invading. He watched the rise and fall of Draco's chest, flashes of textures and memories running through his mind – pale and smooth, soft and sweet as cream, smells of sweat and quidditch, beautiful and scarred, oh so faint… But we don't talk of those. "I know." That's all he said, because, really, what else was there to say?

Draco looked over at Blaise, the reality of it settling in with each day that brought him closer to the masquerade, and his inevitable marriage. Because that's what this was all about. "Kiss me." His voice was choked as he watched Blaise.

Blaise complied, his lips soft and tender, one hand running through Draco's silvery hair gently. And Draco… well… Draco never wanted the moment to end.

* * *

Draco rolled over and cuddled into Blaise for a moment, nudging at his arm and managing to get under it. He didn't open his eyes, preferring instead to keep them closed and pretend that this would last forever. He knew though, that soon Blaise would wake up and they'd have to get up and be yet again just a pair of friends. Draco sighed in his head, pleased to feel Blaise's arm around him and the warmth that radiated from the other boy. Though it was a comfort that was always short lived, and was getting more tedious by the day. They both knew these little encounters would have to end eventually, and Draco was very reluctant to let them slip away. Blaise had been his first in so many ways. He didn't want to give up that innocence with him. 

But he didn't really have a choice in the matter. His parents had assured him of that, not to mention Lord Voldemort. He knew his family line was too valued to be tossed away so easily. Too bad his mother couldn't reproduce anymore. Draco snorted at the thought of some little brat running around. Well. Then he'd have to feel sorry for it.

* * *

The masquerade ball plans moved forward steadily as the day came closer and closer. His mother was of course so proud of him for 'doing this for the family.' Draco had to refrain from throwing things at that damn bitch each time she said that. He was not doing this for the family. He was doing this to save his own skin. That's what mattered most these days. That's the only reason he'd leaned towards Voldemort's side in the end anyhow. They were winning. It would be in his best interest to be on their side, wouldn't it? Draco had the survival instincts of any Malfoy – strong. Very strong. 

Draco was still pacing Blaise's room the night before the ball. Blaise had offered things, as usual, but Draco declined. He was so worked up even Blaise's occasional caress as he walked by did nothing to soothe him. Blaise was intrigued by this side of Draco that he'd never seen before – the nervous side. Draco reminded Blaise of a tiger he'd seen once. It'd been a white tiger, huge and graceful and so deadly. It'd been on a chain, a large chain, and it was pacing. Just like Draco. Both had had the same look in their eye while they paced… and maybe that's what made Blaise so nervous. It was the way Draco looked at things. The way his eyes flashed and twitched back and forth and how his muttering sounded so mad. It made Blaise wonder what exactly would happen at this little masquerade. Draco's parents really shouldn't underestimate their son, Blaise thought quietly to himself as Draco broke, and fixed again, the same vase that he'd been taking his anger out on all evening.

Draco turned on Blaise suddenly, asking him with a snarl, "You're coming too, right?" Though his words were angry, everything about him suggested differently. He looked beaten. Like the caged animal that had figured out what a gun was.

"Yes, Draco. I've told you that, many times." Blaise replied calmly.

Draco sighed and slumped into the chair next to Blaise's, leaning across it a bit to try and touch him some, just for the pure physical comfort. "I can't do this, Blaise. I just can't."

He sounds so scared, Blaise thought to himself. Blaise sighed and shook his head lightly from side to side. "We both knew it was coming." Blaise hadn't told Draco that his mother and Lord Voldemort were expecting the same thing of him. He didn't want to scare himself any more than he already did, and he could comfort Draco more with a level head. He didn't want to admit he was scared too. He'd never really liked women – too complicated.

"Yeah. I guess we did." Draco's voice was monotone, something that bothered Blaise more than outright anger. So he held his head on his shoulder, his fingers brushing through Draco's silky hair as they watched the fire. Tomorrow night, this ended, they knew.

* * *

Draco's mother once again went over his outfit, fretting with the finishing touches. She already had gotten dressed, her costume making her into what was supposed to be a swan. Draco had called her a stork earlier. Bitch, he thought caustically. Couldn't even give your only son a choice, could you? Of course not. You got what you wanted. 

His thoughts were on this track for most of the evening that was spent preparing. Draco's mask was feathered attractively and outlined a wolf, his lips showing from under the curvy bottom of the mask. Currently, they were formed into a delicate sneer, making the wolf effect rather complete. Pale blue-grey eyes flickered behind the mask, shadowed slightly by the eyeholes. His mother fluttered about him some more, and Draco finally lashed out, pushing her away from him as he stalked from the room. He would go see what Blaise got himself dressed up as, he thought as he walked. The silver white cape he was wearing billowed out behind him, his tight shirt a silver colour, flashing and dancing in the lights as he moved. Merlin, could he use a drink.

Blaise swirled in front of Draco, eyeing himself in a mirror. Blaise's attire had him dressed as a red fox. Draco felt better in his company, his mask cast to the side with his cape, himself sprawled out on the couch as he watched Blaise. Blaise laughed, though it was forced, and bowed to Draco. "I suppose the Slytherin Princes should make an entrance, should we not?"

Draco smiled at Blaise, an actual smile as he stood. They'd referred to themselves as the Slytherin Princes in seventh year… until everything they'd known had turned upside down and life had been oh so different. Draco wrapped his arms around Blaise's waist and stood up straighter, looking Blaise in the eye as he said quietly and firmly. "I love you, Blaise Zabini. So do your damn best to pick the dullest, most dim-witted woman you can find." Draco kissed the slightly surprised look away from Blaise's lips and stepped back, putting his cape and mask back on with about as much enthusiasm as the coffin bearer at a funeral.

Blaise moved to wrap his arm around Draco's waist and kissed him a littler harder this time as he stared at Draco. "Okay. But you best do the same."

Draco snorted and brushed Blaise away as he stepped out the door, wondering just what was inside Pandora's Box this evening.

A/N: Well, there's chapter one. My beta loves this story, a lot. I've got a little more written on it, but, I guess I'll see how it goes, since this one I'm mainly writing to entertain myself, and putting it up takes more effort than I have time for these days. Anyhow, enjoy.


	2. Today I gathered up my failures

Chapter two – Today I gathered up my failures

Hermione stretched out in bed, rolling over and brushing pieces of hair from Remus's face. He was having nightmares again, she knew. She pursed her lips together gently as she watched him. Her fair skinned man, tossing about and whimpering like a little boy. She reached out and gently shook his shoulder, "Remus, wake up, please. It's just a dream."

Hermione was now an adult, no longer the gangly know it all teen that she'd been for so many years. She was battle worn and weary, 21 and 40 all at once. She pushed hairs out of his face as Remus slowly opened his eyes, looking at her warily. He was always like this when it got close to his moon time. Hermione enjoyed teasing him about that. It was worse than her period, she knew, but they both could complain of moon times and have a few moments of happiness, perhaps. If they were lucky. A few moments where neither had to admit that they were sleeping with the wrong person. Hermione leaned over and gave him a quick, chaste kiss before sitting up and pulling her robe over her shoulders.

She had observed an almost lemming like attitude with what was left of the Order. She'd hooked up with Remus, though they both knew they were replacements. He was her Harry, and she was his Tonks. Ginny and Oliver had gotten together, and Neville and Cho, a rather unlikely pair, but one that seemed to work decently for the time being. It was as though they all needed someone who would miss them, just in case they did die on their next outing, mission, grocery stop. It was all a chance these days. They all knew it. It'd been getting worse. They all knew that, too. Hermione stepped into the shower turning the water on hot as she stood under it, the early sunlight peeking its fingers through the grimy window of the bathroom. She sighed and mulled over her plans for the day. Her fingers idly touched her collar bone, her other arm crossed over her chest as she closed her eyes for a moment. Remus had bitten her hard last night. So hard there was now a significant mark showing, and she could even point out which teeth were where. The idea of a werewolf biting her had freaked her out at first, but she'd eventually gotten past that. He wasn't in his moon time, and so he wouldn't actually do anything to her. She sighed and started washing her hair, her eyes closed as she did it all by heart now.

Today though, there would be something new for her. There was the ball. They needed information, and Hermione had volunteered to go in. She could pull it off. She wanted to. Was it the danger? The adrenaline rush? Maybe. She wasn't about to deny it. She really wanted to do it. She wanted to get the information, to do something useful. And Arthur would just tell her that she was doing something useful. She could repeat his lecture by heart these days, and often did whilst he was giving it, before stomping off to sulk. She was tired of being cooped up in this damn creepy house with only the same people month after month, year after year. She'd watched them all leave and come back, sometimes. Then there were ones who didn't come back. Who she never saw again; those ones who they were never sure what happened to them, because they couldn't go around asking people. Hermione felt a lot more pity for Sirius when he'd been stuck in this house as well. She could relate, very well. They'd kept her in the house for years now. Because she was the only one who'd survived out of the trio.

She shut the water off and stepped out, grabbing a towel and drying herself off. She heard Remus open the door, but didn't react. She just kept drying, pretending not to have noticed. When he saw the mark on her collar bone, he stopped her, his fingers tracing over it as he hugged her and apologized silently. He had bit her after he'd stopped crying – when they'd both tumbled into bed and just fucked to get it out of their system. She'd scratched holes into his back, and he'd bitten bruises into her chest. And this, the next morning… they apologized, they touched, they tried to pretend it wouldn't happen again.

But then someone wouldn't come home.

Hermione pushed him away and continued getting dressed, putting on a cheery face, even though it was obviously faked. She had to try, sometimes, at least. "What do you want for breakfast? We could have omelets; Ginny went out to get some eggs yesterday." Remus smiled at her, his smile much weaker and with more sadness in it.

"Omelets would be lovely, dear." He kissed her cheek as she slinked out of the bathroom and continued getting dressed. Remus turned on the water, stripping and standing in the stream as he stared hazily at the shower wall.

Dating an ex student… what would Tonks have said, he wondered as he scrubbed his shoulders with an almost nervous air. He didn't know. All those years he thought he'd known her, and in all reality, he'd known nothing. But he failed to see this until she was dead and gone. Remus swallowed hard and looked at his arm – why was it hurting so much? Then he realized that he'd been squeezing it. Hard enough to bruise, most likely. Four little finger prints and a thumb wrapping around… he felt like his entire body was bruised these days. There was no end for it that he could see. Remus had long ago lost hope.

Hermione, what a woman… she was always creating new spells, coming up with new defensive measures, helping the Order in so many ways. There were only a few of the old timers left, from before. Before they'd gotten Harry. He tuned the water to a hotter setting and hissed slightly as the heat seared along his back. The Order was basically run by Harry's classmates, by Hermione's friends… Cho Chang, the Weasley twins, Neville Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, Oliver Wood… all of them had turned out to be fine aurors. They'd make all of their parents proud.

They'd lost Molly a few years back. It'd been hard on the Weasley family. Remus really felt for them. Aruthur, the twins, Bill, Charlie and Ginny were trying to make the best of it. Percy was dead, though Remus couldn't say he was all too sad about that. He had turned on them, eventually. Maybe that's why Molly had been so careless? Who knew. Remus sure didn't.

There was a running list of the lost on the wall in the front hall. You had to sign in and out, to make sure that you were kept track of. It was the only way they could tell if people were dead or not, these days. Did they sign back in? If it'd been a few days, well, it wasn't best to get your hopes up. Hagrid had been out for weeks now; no one had seen him in ages, it seemed. Hermione was still stressing over it. Remus could tell by the way she scowled sometimes and bit at her bottom lip and stared at the ground and looked like she'd lost something and had just thought of another place to look for it.

He stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel, his pale skin red in places from the heat of the water still. He hadn't meant to end up sleeping with Hermione. If there was anything in this world he had never once thought of, it'd been having any sort of relationship with Hermione other than strictly student and teacher. But he'd found her crying one night… just crying. And it had led to things. Remus always felt like he was taking advantage of her. Hermione still wouldn't admit she'd been a virgin, but she'd bled a little. And it wasn't because he was being rough, either.

He shook his head, as if to shake the thoughts and memories from his head, and started getting dressed. He could smell the omelets.

* * *

Hermione flipped the last omelet onto the plate and started cleaning up. With all her extra time, she'd finally learned to cook. The Order appreciated it, since few of the members really could. Though Bill was rather adept at it, he was hardly around. Neville was horrible, and wasn't allowed near the cooking utensils, and Ginny had no patience. She always tried to cook on higher settings than needed, and would burn the food.

Hermione liked the muggle way of cooking. She'd grown up cooking like this. Her mother baking cookies for special occasions… her hiding in a cabinet with the door cracked, watching as her mother busied herself, waiting for her to leave the cookie dough so she could 'sneak' in and her mother could catch her. She sighed, sitting down in front of the table. Oliver was absorbed in the latest report from Moody and trying to magic his fork to feed him at the same time. It wasn't going well, and after a few moments, the fork finally got his eye. Yelping and cursing, Oliver pushed the food away from him, and continued to read, not sparing Hermione a glance the whole while.

She pushed her food around on her plate, knowing she should eat. Later her and Ginny were going to fashion her outfit for the evening. She was going as a cougar, because the twins insisted that she'd never be able to be a tiger, or even a white one, because of her hair. She'd finally gotten them out of the room, but Ginny had agreed that a regal looking cat would be fine, no matter the colouing. 'Anything with that much air will fit in just fine,' she'd told her

Hermione didn't like the way Ginny looked at her. She looked at her like she was a ghost. The two girls had become even closer over the years, getting to know each other. Ginny had mourned with Hermione, and Hermione had talked with her, and they had just grown close without even trying. But that happened a lot these days with the Order members. Hermione forced down a few bites in a rush as she heard Remus coming down the stairs. She didn't need a lecture right now. In some ways, he was more a father than a lover. A keeper, that's what he was. Her keeper. She sighed again, but looked up with a smile to Remus as he complimented her food. "It looks wonderful, dear." He shoved a bite into his mouth a little mechanically and tried to swallow quietly, even if Hermione could see him gagging a bit on it. Poor Remus, she thought to herself, staring at her food. She wished silently that he wasn't so sad, but she knew that would never change until something bigger was taken care of.

Oliver finished reading the report and put it back on the table, pulling his food towards him. After a few bites, he looked to Hermione. "Oh, good." He chewed quickly, and gulped down his mouth full of food after a moment. "Just the person I wanted to see." Hermione cringed a little, and pushed her plate away from her, not even bothering to pretend to eat anymore. Remus turned and watched Oliver as he nibbled on some of the bacon. "I'll be escorting you tonight. You know who your main target will be, yes?"

Hermione nodded, feeling her stomach drop out from under her. Oh yes, she knew who her main target was.

Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Draco gritted his teeth together and bowed to the woman who was curtsying to him. "Miss Anifèe Dubell," the man who was announcing their names as he entered droned on. One after another, woman, after girl, after woman – dear lord, was that a woman? Draco closed his eyes. He was hot, his mask was messing up his hair, and his cape was heavy enough to make his back ache a little. Ha. It was only made to look weightless, he thought cynically to himself. "Miss Loreena Sinclair."

Finally, a break. After miss Loreena curtisied and batted her lashes at him, and returned to the gaggle of girls off to the side, Draco made his way out and away. He found Blaise, about neck deep in whiskey by this time, feeling up one of the escorts. "Blaise." At the sound of Draco's voice, the escort quickly scurried away, looking slightly bewildered and lost. Draco glared at Blaise and took his cup from him, downing the rest of it and tossing it. He stood on the balcony next to Blaise, looking out over it with his sour attitude building by the second.

"Draco, lovely to see you. My, aren't you pretty tonight?" Blaise leaned onto Draco a little heavily, and Draco consequently pushed him away in agitation.

"Stop it, Blaise. Take those damn savior pills already." Savior pills were their little nickname for medicine that would quickly lower one's alcohol levels. Draco had enjoyed as a kid selling them to muggles and watching the fun. Blaise muttered to himself and sighed as he fumbled in his pocket.

"You're no fun." He looked longingly over to where the escort had run, the boy's red hair making him easily distinguishable from the crowd. "He was a good kisser." Blaise did feel a little guilty for what he'd done. But it's not like him and Draco were dating, or ever had been. He knew how possessive he could be sometimes, though. Especially when it came to him. Blaise swallowed the pills and leaned his back against the balcony's railing, his eyes closed. He could feel his senses clearing as he breathed in and exhaled slowly a few times. The only bad thing about the savior pills was the slight disorientation afterwards. After the effect was full, or close enough, Blaise turned to Draco. "Find anyone?" His voice was a little slurred, and would've sounded sensitive, were it not for the stupidity of those damn pills.

"No. Mother likes Nerina Tique." His mother was going on and on about 'Nerina, what a pretty girl – Draco, isn't she just darling?' He was going to puke if she mentioned once more what a wonderful family Nerina had, or all that land Nerina's uncle owned, or what about that brewery that her grandfather on her father's side had started? Draco ground his teeth a bit and glanced to Blaise. "Any luck for you?" Nerina was also a redhead. He couldn't stand redheads.

"No. But there's a lot of pretty men here." Blaise cast Draco a side-long glance, smiling faintly. There was, of course. Blaise was too busy noticing the men, and not the women he was supposed to be. He'd danced with a few, not nearly as many as Draco had, but enough to look like he was doing something and actually trying. Blaise was just happy that Voldemort hadn't shown up. He was just… creepy.

Draco turned slowly around. His mother was waving at him frantically, almost jumping up and down. The feathers of her swan outfit were flaying about wildly with her movement. Oh yes, he was going to puke. She was standing next to a woman and talking to her excitedly, still motioning for him to come over as they talked. She didn't seem enthralled by his mother either, and she looked uncomfortable in her settings. Great. Some younger daughter of some rich, stupid, low-life, but pureblood, family. Like the Weasley's, but with money. He bared his teeth and hissed at Blaise as he turned to him before walking to his mother, "Save me." He put on a very obviously fake and forced grin as he approached.

"Dear, dear, you must meet this young lady, she's gorgeous! And she's really intelligent, dear, and I know how you like that—" Draco scowled a bit— "So come now, dance! Here's a new song starting up!" With that his mother quickly placed his hand in hers and ushered them to the dance floor with hasty little movements.

Her hand was sweaty. Was she that nervous? Draco sighed and placed his hand on her waist, feeling her flinch a little, and holding his other up for the slow dance that ensued. Of course. He'd been avoiding the slow dances like the plague, and he gets nailed with one now. Oh well.

She was dressed as some sort of feline, that much he could tell. Her hair was curled and twirled elegantly down her shoulders, and he could see something in it sparkling when she turned a certain way. Her outfit was a slimming black dress that also glittered in the light a little, just enough to catch the eye. She was underdressed for the general crowd, he noted. But not in a bad way. Her eyes were like honey and chocolate mixed together. He was so busy looking over her, studying her, that he didn't even notice the gentle prod at his mind's barrier. His arms moved naturally to wrap around her waist after a moment, the song slowing down more. He could see couples out of the corner of his eye kissing and dancing. He also caught Blaise talking to that redheaded boy again. Bastard, he thought lazily.

Hermione pushed a little more, filtering through recent thoughts and memories. She needed solid information, she knew. They were trying to figure out if Voldemort knew about Grimmauld place or not. This would seem trivial, but the fact of the matter was that they had no where else to go. It was the only place with such protection, and no one wanted to leave it. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Oliver, his mask not covering his hatred, as he watched them dancing. Oliver was there with only one purpose: to slow them down so she could get away if it came to that. Hermione hated thinking of it that way, but that's how it was. She pushed a little more. Flashes of Blaise laughing, his mother, painted red by the irritation in the memory – talking with his father and baring his teeth. Talking to Voldemort. 'You need to get married, Draco.' Hermione pulled back at that thought, looking at him with more interest. They hadn't known what the ball was for – though the Malfoy's were extravagant, they hardly threw balls without a reason of some sort. And that was it. They were trying to have Draco pick up a woman. Hermione flushed a little under her mask.

Draco caught the flush out of the corner of his eye, glancing back to Hermione just in time for the song to end. Well, that had been easy. Draco bowed and she curtsied, awkwardly, when he pulled back. "And your name, miss?" He asked her politely, pale grey eyes dancing a bit. There was something about her, about the way she moved, that was incredibly familiar.

"Miss Ellie Langt, sir." She wasn't looking at him, she was looking at his feet. He couldn't catch her eye again, so he shrugged lightly to himself and bowed again.

"Thank you for the dance, Miss Langt. Have a good evening." And with that he moved away.

Hermione let out a slow exhale of breath, clenching her teeth as she walked back to Oliver, who was currently getting eyed by Blaise from across the hall. He was twitching nervously and wringing his hands together, trying to move to a place where Blaise couldn't see him. "Why they ever let him have alcohol is beyond me," Oliver muttered, moving behind a pillar and looking to Hermione.

"Anything?"

"Yes. I don't think he knows." Draco's most recent thoughts would've shown up, and she was fairly sure Voldemort being that excited, about having found them, would have been something he would've remembered, or at least heard about. All his recent coming and goings were fairly dull rich pompous things.

"Good." Oliver let out a sigh of relief, and looked at her. "So you want to prance around a bit more, and then we can go?" Oliver didn't like feeling like this, like he was so watched and under such close scrutiny.

"Sounds good." Hermione moved back to the main floor with more grace this time. She was relaxed a little more. The hard part was over. She grabbed some punch, and stood to one side, watching Draco as he got dragged into another dance by his mother. She could see him swearing as he swept by her, his fists clenched at his sides.

She had to admit he was handsome. She didn't like to, but she would, at least. She adjusted her dress a little and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Draco hadn't been directly responsible for any of the war happenings, but Hermione still held a hell of a grudge against him for his father's involvement. She wasn't one who liked to judge blindly, but the entire Malfoy line was just shit in her opinion. They had no backbones, and it was always them over anyone else. They just didn't care.

Hermione drifted about for the next half hour or so. She noticed that Draco and Blaise were away from the crowd more and more. She saw him drink a little, watched as Draco's feet moved a little more off balance. Wondered if, and hoped secretly, that he would fall over. But to no avail.

Hermione turned back to the punch table for one last drink. Oliver was making puppy dog eyes at her that resembled a dog who very much needed to go to the bathroom and wanted out _now_.

"Mmm. Miss Langt. You're going to dance with me again." The cocky bastard was looking at her, standing behind her. Hermione looked over her shoulder at him, eyebrows raising. She knew she shouldn't, she knew she should claim feminine problems and run off. But what did she do? She played.

"Oh really?" She was almost coy. About as close to coy as Hermione Granger could get. She wasn't about to pass up the chance for some more information. And now that he was a little tipsy, it was even more likely that she could pull out something useful.

Draco had been watching her, ever since their dance. He'd see a flash of black out of his eye, and look, find her talking to someone idly. See her walking with more poise and decision. God, it was sexy, he had to admit, for a woman. His mother had said she was intelligent… but Draco didn't really want intelligent. He wanted someone stupid enough to believe him when he said he wasn't with Blaise in the least. Someone who wouldn't see it.

But he couldn't stop thinking about her. Her eyes got him the most. Those piercing, almost accusing eyes, coated in honey. Like a fly trap. And Draco didn't like being the fly, generally, but she was so intriguing to him, he couldn't help it. Fly or not, he was going to see what was under all that honey she was heaping on.

"Yes." He took her hand and pulled her out. Slow dance. Again. He was okay with that though, and a little thankful. His mother was jumping up and down almost in her seat, happy as all hell to see him willing pick a girl to dance with. His father was rolling his eyes and talking with some of the gentlemen who's daughters were in attendance. His father, always looking out for a deal where he could make more money at their loss. Draco appreciated his skill, but he still loathed the man in general.

Hermione was trying at his barriers again. With the combination of his sense of security and the alcohol, it was easy to go further into his mind and memories than it had been before.

And that's when she caught it: an evening encounter, biting, scratching, a flash of olive skin and a moan, a heady scent and hands touching at places she hadn't thought about in years, in ways she'd never thought about, really. Blaise's dark, dark eyes staring so hungrily, Draco's heart racing and his hands touching and feeling and his body moving up against Blaise. Blaise on him, in him, touching him --

Hermione gasped loudly, pulling her mind out of Draco's so quickly that she physically stumbled back. Her face was red. Her mask was slightly askew and she fixed it with trembling hands. Draco was gay, her mind told her frantically as she still stood, panting a little and staring at him like a wild horse. She'd felt what Draco had, for a moment there. The intoxicating headiness and the deep breaths and the sweat. She stuttered out finally, "I-I've got to g-g-go." And she was off, running out with Oliver following behind her, a dazed look on his face. What the hell?

Draco was peeling after her the moment she left. She was still thinking about Draco. Gay, gay, gay. She didn't mind gay. But Draco? Really. Maybe he's bi, the other side, the more rational side, of her mind reasoned. But it didn't matter on the specifics. He'd done stuff with Blaise, Blaise for Merlin's sake!

She was running so quickly, she didn't bother to pick up the hair clip and shoe that she lost in her dash. Oliver, tailing behind her, didn't take the time either. If she thought reason for there not to be time left to spare, well, he wasn't going to risk it.

And so Draco found on the ground her abandoned cat mask, a few of the whiskers bent, and a hair clip, sparkling desolately on the ground in the faint moonlight. Langt, he thought to himself. Ellie Langt.

He would find her. He had to. There was something about her. And if he had to marry someone… why not her?

**A/N:** So, here's chapter two. Enjoy. Chapter three is very long and still WIP. Hopefully I'll get some work done on it today.


	3. And rejections come in twos

Chapter Three – And rejections come in twos

Hermione lifted her cup with trembling hands as she sipped at the cocoa. She hadn't told the others what she'd seen. She'd made up a believable story of the torture that he'd committed and the crimes that he'd witnessed. Yes, that was believable. Much more so than it would be if she'd told them that she'd found memories of Draco Malfoy sleeping with Blaise, and enjoying it. Being a very willing and in-depth lover.

She could almost taste him.

Hermione shuddered a little and curled into her chair deeper, her eyes staring unseeingly at the fire that crackled merrily in the fireplace. The flames were dancing, intricately, intoxicatingly – much like her and Draco… like Draco and Blaise. A shiver coursed through her again. She couldn't help it. That much… lust. Well, she'd never had anything like that before. It'd overwhelmed her, to say the least. She bit her lip nervously, almost jumping and spilling her drink as Remus's hand gently touched her shoulder. "Hermione?" He sounded worried, she noted in a slightly dazed manner as she glanced up at him. It was well past four AM. Remus looked worn too, his clothing wrinkled, as though he'd tried sleeping in them before finally coming to get her.

"Remus." She wasn't trying to be a smart ass, but she had to admit that her comment sounded a little off-coloured as she made it. It was more that her thought process was too thoroughly blocked by her earlier visions to process anything beyond simple things – names and places.

"Coming to bed soon?" His voice was so hopeful. Hermione knew how he hated to sleep alone. She looked down at her cocoa before nodding and standing on unsteady feet. Her body seemed to shake and wobble as she stood, leaning against the chair for balance as she smiled at him weakly.

"Yeah." She set her cocoa down, deciding that the house elf could take care of it for the time being. She hated leaving things for them, but she knew that she really didn't have the mental energy to do anything beyond moving to the bedroom and passing out.

In the bedroom, Remus gently coerced her into sex, the soft touches and mumbled words making things a little better. But at the end of it all, when he pulled her close and tightly gripped her as he came… she couldn't help but wonder, disgustingly, in the back of her mind… what would it have been like if that had been Malfoy?

* * *

Draco lazily flipped the hair clip over, watching the lamplight flicker over it as it fell back into his palm. He'd looked over it closely, very closely, tracing the patterns with his eyes as he lounged in his rooms, or Blaise's, or at the dinner table, when he was forced into making an appearance. The clip went with him where ever he was – it didn't matter where, or who was around. When his father inquired about his marriage, Draco replied calmly that if they could find the girl, he'd gladly marry her and create at least ten little Malfoy's to keep them busy.

There'd been no luck in finding her. Though Draco acted as though he couldn't care either way, he did. He wanted to find that girl. He knew that her name wasn't really Ellie, so what was it? Alexandra? London? Lydia? Something exotic, he thought to himself. Something… dangerous. Oh she was dangerous and he knew it all right. He wasn't going to lie to himself at all about her.

But she was a cat, and he was a wolf. They naturally chased each other. Draco flipped the barrette into the air again, watching it calmly as it fell into his palm with a little sound.

And the wolf _always_ won.

* * *

"There's been reports of some suspicious movement around a small suburb…" the recorder droned on in his pompous way as Voldemort tapped the arm of the chair he was sitting in with his nails, which in Draco's opinion, were grotesquely long. Voldemort waved his hand in a dismissive air, glaring as the man backed down.

"Does anyone have anything _interesting_ to tell me?" His voice was a low growl in the room which was now deathly quiet. After the few seconds of ice-cold silence, a shuffling of parchment and chairs began, the council like setting suddenly rushing about and falling over themselves like school children to find something interesting to tell the dark lord. Anything to catch his attention. This was how they competed for places of honor, Draco knew. He couldn't stand them. Groveling, whining, their tail's between their legs. Draco thought it rather disgusting, all in all, but life was as it was: Voldemort held the power. If you wanted power, you kissed ass.

Draco never kissed ass unless he had to. Unless those nice Malfoy survival instincts set in.

"Draco, have you found that damn girl yet?" Voldemort's icy glare turned to him, which caused all the others in the room to freeze like deer in the headlight. Draco looked loftily over to Voldemort. He was sitting on the side of the room, his one leg flipped over the arm of the wooden chair he was in. His fingers traced over the barrette in his pocket idly for a second before he shrugged. He was playing dangerously, he knew, but he was suffering a hell of a hang over, and wasn't in a good enough mood to care. He was too valuable to kill off, he knew. The most Voldemort would do was a few good crucios, and they were almost bearable by now. Not that he enjoyed it or anything, but hey, you did get used to them after a while.

"Not yet, my lord." His voice was disinterested and a little airy.

Voldemort growled in the back of his throat at Draco, his eyes narrowed to small slits as he spoke lowly and threateningly, "You will find someone, Draco. That's an order, do you understand?"

Draco looked from his lap to Voldemort as he stood, brazenly shrugging as he stepped away a little. "I'd best get to looking, then, yes?" He turned from Voldemort and started to walk out.

He hadn't really expected to get away with it, so the familiar cold voice, the pain chasing up his spine as it brought him to his knees was nothing he hadn't expected. The thing that he really hadn't expected though, was the memory that came flashing back at him. Her eyes.

* * *

"MALFOY!" The shriek that rang through the Hogwarts courtyard was enough to send the birds in their tower a good mile away fluttering out of their roosts to screech with it. Draco leaned casually against the wall as he looked over, flipping the pale blonde hair from his eyes, revealing the fair complexion and slightly sharp features that hid under it. His robe swayed a bit in the wind as he watched her come storming out of the main school area into the center of the courtyard.

It was Granger, the little mudblood wench. He was wondering how long it would take her to figure out that it was he who had jinxed her books to lose their text the minute she opened them. It had been surprisingly effective, and easy, too. Which had made it an immediate favorite of his.

She was a storm, or at least that's how he remembered it. Her hair splayed around her shoulders, grown out and still slightly frizzy, her eyes flashing and her fists clenched at her sides. She radiated the anger and frustration. Oh, he knew that she'd looked for the counter for hours, days, perhaps. He'd done it last Friday. Poor Granger. No books for her over the weekend. Well, that's what she got for leaving them in the Head's Common room, now wasn't it?

She'd come up to him, and tried to slap him. He'd caught her wrist, effortless, in his memory, though he'd almost missed it in reality. She was screaming at him, that much he knew. But in his memory of it, in the excruciating pain that flashed through him and prompted him, he could only think of her eyes. Honey coated chocolate. His thoughts were not on how she'd yelled and kicked him, almost preventing him from having any children, though a slight turn to the left kept that part of him safe. He didn't ponder on how she was crying at him almost. How her helplessness had made him feel so… wonderful? How he'd so easily fed off the sense of power that she gave him. Those were unfavorable memories, and they didn't really flatter him in the least. So he chose not to remember them at this point in time, at least.

When the pain let up, Draco sucked in a sharp breath between his clenched teeth. His lungs felt like they'd been drained of all air, and were now painfully being re-inflated. In all reality, that probably wasn't far from the truth. Draco didn't let himself scream. He simply exhaled until he couldn't any more. His father had gotten a scream, once, when he was younger. After that little experience, after how weak it'd made him feel, how pathetic and low… well, that never happened again. He never intended for it to, either. Draco was not the type of person to let things like that occur more than they absolutely had to. So with stiff resolution, Draco rose, leaning heavily on the wall as he continued walking. By the time he made it to Blaise's room, his legs were shaking so badly that they would barely hold him. He was leaning against the door frame, smiling weakly and faintly at Blaise's surprised expression before he fell forward, his palms sliding against the carpet in an excruciating jolt of pain before he hurled.

"Evening, sunshine." Draco commented in a bitter tone before he slumped down, watching with half a mind as Blaise cleaned up his mess and helped him in calmly.

* * *

Hermione stretched out in the bed, her eyes staring up at the ceiling of her and Remus's room while she listened silently to the sound of water coming from the shower. She hadn't slept well the past few nights, but that was nothing new. She'd taken to staying up late and staring at the fire with a cup of tea or cocoa, which ever seemed easiest to get a hold of at the moment. She gave a soft sigh and pulled the blanket up a little more, tucking it under her chin, fluffing it forward enough to cover her chin and lips. She'd been chewing on her bottom lip – her nervous habit at its best. She had never been able to stop that, really. She'd switched from nails to her lip, and, well, she had to have some sort of nervous tic. She could taste the faint metallic tang of blood. It was a common taste for her these days, and something that she dearly wished would stop. But no matter how many times she told herself she would stop… well, it just never worked out the way she wanted it to. Something else would come back, and on her lip she would work again, worrying away at it as her brain raced to find something to distract her from it all. From this life that she lived, or tried to.

The memories from Draco had seared into her so completely, that she couldn't forget them. She had tried everything. And by everything, well, she had done everything. She'd even gotten a little tipsy one evening and pushed Remus up against a wall on her way to the bedroom. Sad, angry sex, pungent alcohol breath, and a breakdown at the end for the finishing touch. Even that hadn't helped. If anything, she was more awkward around Remus now. She avoided him throughout the day, burying herself in her books, swamping herself in Latin and Greek and finding spells, brushing them up, rewriting them. Surviving another day. Fall into bed, barely able to think, and hopefully she wouldn't dream of anything.

Last night she'd woke up in a cold sweat, her cheeks flushed, cold air attacking the sweat on her, shivers coursing up and down her as she tried to regain her sense of place. How real it was to her – maybe that's what scared her. Kissed so hard she couldn't breathe, her eyes closed and the blood singing in her ears as she tried to be closer and closer to Blaise – she wanted to be as close as possible to him, because if she couldn't be close to him, who could she be? Who would want her? And she woke up feeling like no one would want her, so insecure. Was that how Draco felt?

She didn't want to admit that she felt sorry for him sometimes. That she wondered, sometimes, if he was really as bad as they had always thought. But she refused to budge. She might pity him, but he was a horrible person who deserved every bit he got. And that was that.

Out. That was her one thought as she pulled on her clothes, rushing suddenly. Out, before Remus notices. Before her keeper pulls in her leash and her senses. Before anyone notices. Out, out, out where people won't look at her like that, won't look with pity and notice the bags under her eyes, out.

Soon, she was out. She didn't sign out, which she would regret later, but she had to get out. Had to. There was just no other way for her to survive. The house was closing in, and it all smelt like Blaise and felt like Draco and made noises that Hermione didn't want to think about. When she was free, more free than she'd been in a few weeks, she broke down and cried. Cried because she didn't know what to do. She couldn't make it better, or could she? She didn't know. She didn't know, and lord, what she'd do for an answer. For a fix all. Even though Hermione Granger didn't believe in fix alls. They were silly and childish. But lord, how she wanted one.

So she sat on the curb and cried, leaning against the mailbox post, her arms crossed and her face buried. Her shoulders were hunched and shaking. And the small suburbia muggles looked on with wary wonder, and crossed the street.

You just couldn't tell these days.

* * *

Draco glared at Goyle as the still rather dull bulk of a man made his way around the neighborhood. He was weaving about on the sidewalk. _Low profile my ass,_ Draco thought to himself as he watched people stop and stare at him. Though Goyle had earned some respect in his time under the service of the dark lord, he'd never really made an outstanding name for himself. He'd been sent to check out this little suburb as a sort of default. Usually, Crabbe would be accompanying him. As punishment though, it was now Draco's little duty to keep track of Goyle and make sure there were no wizards stirring up rebellion in this area. Though Draco could see why they'd choose the area, he didn't see how any of them would be able to stand it.

Maybe it had something to do with surviving, he thought to himself a little viciously as he kicked at an abandoned pop can.

He hadn't forgotten what the flash of memory had brought at him. At first, he hadn't believed it. It couldn't have been Hermione Granger who he'd been dancing with. She'd never been overly graceful, and to top it off, he _knew_ her body didn't look like that. But he'd also never really checked all that intently, had he? Of course not. Not that it mattered. He wasn't likely to see her again, and that was what was driving him crazy. Not only would he have to find a new woman to marry, well, there'd be other things. But he knew in all rationality that he wouldn't have been able to marry her in the first place. Once people found out who she really was, well, it was well known that she was a mudblood. The fact that she was wanted dead would matter little. If she was pureblood, well, Draco would get what he wanted. Even if few in the court held any like for him, he did have the power to do generally what he wanted.

Goyle peered at the report he was holding and pointed a thick finger at the paper, jabbing at a piece that had been highlighted. The area where disturbances had been reported. Where muggles thought they'd seen some rather strange things happening, and various other events that had piqued Voldemort's interest. Though this was a punishment job for Draco, it was still a somewhat needed one, in the least. They had to make sure that people weren't really up to anything in the first place. If they were, well, it could be troublesome.

The wizards in this new order were well aware that rebellious groups still lived on. They had no insiders in the group though, since they were almost as cruel as Voldemort's own when it came to letting people in. They'd lost a few people due to that, and Draco had been almost impressed. He'd recognized Granger's handiwork on the last one that they'd sent in. The spell was very much her style, and very good, he hated to admit.

But he would admit it, because it was just in his head. It wasn't like he had to talk to anybody about how he could appreciate the spells or something like that. Draco brushed some hair from his eyes, the flash of irritation at his current job passing before he looked to Goyle, his face once again blank. "Fine. You take that way. Try not to look too obvious, please?" His voice was a little more than exasperated. Goyle was not known for his finesse when it came to these matters, and that happened to be something that Draco rather wanted in this operation. But he had little choice as to whom he was working with, this time at least. Draco was more used to doing things solo and not having to depend on others. He hated depending on others.

Goyle nodded, actually seeming to take the words in, though Draco knew that the only thing Goyle was now thinking about was getting this over with so he could eat something. Goyle's mind was always on food of some sort.

As Draco stalked off, muttering curses about Goyle, he couldn't help but let his thoughts drift back lazily to Granger. He liked the irony of his mother's statement – the one about Granger being intelligent. If she was so intelligent, what the hell had she been doing there in the middle of Voldemort's lair? Draco knew in his gut that he should tell someone about what had been happening, but in a selfish way, he liked having the secret. He hadn't even told Blaise anything about her. Blaise also hadn't asked, but that was how he was. Blaise didn't ask in a very interested way unless it involved him personally, and he knew it didn't, so he let Draco be. The subject was also delicate because of how they were with each other.

Draco was thankful for the privacy. He felt like his mind was a play area for almost every senior member of Voldemort's group. He'd caught his father testing at him earlier yesterday, and he'd thought he'd felt traces of his mother there too. He hated it when people tried to pry in his brain. It was his, dammit.

He made an annoyed sound as he kicked at an empty pop can. Filthy muggles, he thought to himself distantly as he walked along. They couldn't even pick up after themselves, could they? Had to leave their trash and waste all around as though they were the superior beings – as though they had some right to do this type of thing to the world. Well, they didn't.

So involved in his thoughts, Draco didn't notice the small gasp from the shabby looking blob sitting on the curb. Pale grey eyes flashed up as he stared out from under his lashes. Granger. Wasn't this just wonderful, he thought to himself?

She had clearly realized who he was and was now scrambling away from him, trying to stand but her legs just kept giving out a little each time, making her running steps away from him more like tiptoes. He fingered his wand under his jacket. He'd donned a jacket of his father's that appeared muggle enough to let him get around without being noticed. He thought it rather flattering, himself. For something that resembled muggles, at least.

"Wee little Granger, all alone?" Draco watched coolly as she fumbled about in her own pockets searching for her wand, he guessed. He snorted at her in disdain. "And without her wand. What a shame." He felt like a wild animal on the prowl. When she took off, her legs finally in working order, he was after her just as quickly. He could feel his blood pounding in his ears, the sound of his feet hitting the pavement the only thing he could concentrate on. Slap, slap, slap, pause for the jump over the curb, slap, slap – she was trying to make it across someone's front yard, dodging around a corner when he lunged at her. Draco had enough skill to manage a successful tackle. She was on the ground in seconds, Draco on her as she withered under him, whimpering. Like a flower in the desert heat.

She screamed after a moment, as though actually realizing what was going on. Draco slapped her hard across her mouth, his face remaining plain and emotionless as he watched her. Her lip was bleeding. He dipped a fingertip in the blood and raised it to his eyes to examine as he commented caustically, "So this is what mudbloods look like on the inside." He wiped it off on her shirt, still sitting on her chest. It didn't occur to him how strange it would look to any passerby. Draco was too busy wanting answers to care.

"You were at the ball, _Miss Langt_" He stated the fact coldly and blankly. Her look of surprise gave him a rather large amount of satisfaction.

She was shaking her head, squirming still. Poor little Granger, he thought to himself. And what's she doing out of hiding, hm? She knew it was a big, bad world out here, where only tough wizards, like himself, survived.

Draco pulled out her hair clip and flashed it to her. Hermione's eyes widened at that, her mouth opened in a small little 'o' as she stared for a second. Honey swirled in chocolate. That seemed to thoroughly set her off though and she retaliated immediately. She was kicking and clawing at him, before she hissed brutally, her eyes narrowed to slits, "How's Blaise, Draco? Sat on him lately? Or maybe you've finally found a little wifey to put up with your little fetishes."

Draco hadn't expected that. What the – how did she know about that? Such venom, from Granger? In his stunned moment, she squirmed harder and managed to wiggle out from under him. She crawled away from him some, crouching, looking like a cornered animal. There were pieces of grass sticking to her in places, flyaway hairs raising in the faint wind. Her shirt was torn a bit, and he could see just the first hint of a pale curve of breast. Buttermilk. Chocolate, honey, buttermilk. Goyle would be proud.

Draco's eyes flicked up as he righted himself, pulling his wand out on her.

Hermione flinched at the sight of the wand. She'd been careless. She'd run out without taking her own, and here she was, faced with a death eater in return for all her brains. She bared her teeth at him, using it as something to try and make herself feel braver than she was at the moment. She'd read in books that animals would try to puff out and make themselves seem bigger than they really were to intimidate predators. Though Hermione was no animal, she could at least make herself appear as threatening as possible. It was her last resort.

Draco's gaze narrowed on her for a moment. What was she playing at? She was left losing, he knew. It would only take two words and he would end it all. And anything else she'd happened to figure out would be just as dead as her. "I was sort of hoping you'd be my 'wifey,' Granger. But I think I just decided that you'd be much more useful dead." His words were as cold as steel, his eyes flashing a little at her. Of course she wouldn't realize the truth in the statements. But he'd only wanted to marry her when he was being forced to marry, and that was before he realized who she really was. It seemed like ages ago that he'd had that curious little memory that sparked this all.

Hermione was frantically trying not to remember certain somethings that were trying to work their way into her mind. She could see a bit of his collar bone from beneath his shirt which was askew. His words didn't even throw her off course. Dead, so be it. Everyone in the Order knew this was their fate sooner or later. She was sorry for Remus though. She'd never been what he needed, and in the last few days… it'd just been worse, she knew.

"He tastes like cinnamon," Hermione commented quietly as she straightened herself out. If she was to die, she was going to do it standing, not crouching and growling like a caged animal. She brushed herself off as she looked up to him. Draco seemed to be thinking about something. Hermione felt strangely calm. She wondered absently if this was how kamikazes felt. Did they get this calm, smooth feeling? As though life was in slow motion? Draco's wand was still pointed at her, the tip aimed solidly at her midsection.

"How do you know that?" He was staring at her intently, his question little more than a whisper. Blaise did taste like cinnamon. A pleasant little trace of a taste due to the boy always nibbling on cinnamon sticks when he was nervous. He had them in his tea, and often in various other foods. Draco always associated cinnamon with Blaise.

Hermione gave a little ironic smile as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She was provoking him, she knew. Maybe part of her wanted to die? Wanted to end it right here and now? "He likes your noises, the ones you make when he takes off your pants and –" She was cut off abruptly by Draco's scream.

"Stop it!" He was so thrown off by this all. He didn't know how to deal with someone knowing these things. Not even Blaise would discuss those things with him. His cheeks were tinged with a little red, the colour creeping up his face. How could this little mudblood whore know anything about him? Those were not memories he wore on his sleeves in the first place – he had to hide them from everyone anyways. He guarded them more fastidiously than any other memory of his, save maybe the ones that linked to her. She was his little secret.

Hermione was taking a dirty little pleasure in seeing Draco distraught. His tousled hair made him look bewildered and confused. She was quiet and slow as she continued on. "Come on, Malfoy. Do it already."

Draco's hand had started to tremble.

Hermione's mouth felt sick. Like it was coated in something unpleasant. She hadn't ever talked like that before – said things that were even remotely sexual. Even when Remus caught her in a good mood, she never did more than whimper. Never said the words. Good little girls like Hermione didn't say things like 'fuck me.' He'd gotten a 'please' out of her, once. But this was a different feeling. The words weren't inspired by lust or want – but instead by malice and hate… and perhaps a bit of disgust? Hermione had never been that curious about other people's sex lives. Maybe it was jealousy.

"C'mon… Dracy." That was what Pansy had called him, when they'd been dating in school. If you wanted to call it dating, that is. It was more like her hanging on him and him occasionally sleeping with her.

Draco closed his eyes at that name. He hadn't heard that in ages. Not since Pansy got killed. He still wasn't sure who had killed her, but he would send flowers to the person, if he could. Hell, he'd gladly give them a farm and some cows. He couldn't stand Pansy. And that would've been who he'd have ended up marrying if things had all worked out. Sometimes, Draco liked it when things didn't work out.

"Go home, Granger. Go home." Draco's words came out between teeth that were gnashed together tightly. His fist was clenched at his side, his other holding his wand, still pointing at Hermione. He didn't know why he was doing this. But he couldn't kill her. A year or two ago, hell, a week ago, he would've easily done it. Would've done it without pausing. Would've done something at least, instead of just standing around and waiting for her to run. Instead of telling her to run; wanting her to escape.

Hermione's eyebrows raised, her body still tensed as she looked at him. Go home? What the bloody hell was Malfoy on, she wondered to herself. Was he so low as to kill her in the back? When she turned and tried to 'go home?' Was he really that pathetic? She gave a small, Malfoy-worthy sneer and retorted sharply, "Being a real man there, Malfoy." She took the dig because she didn't know what else to do. It was natural to her, to get at him when she could. And since she didn't know how to deal with her present situation, she naturally went back to something that was comfortable and habitual: insulting him.

Draco forced his shaky arm to lower, his wand pointing at the ground after a pause. He was breathing sharply through his nose, his eyes narrowed at her. "You have no idea, Granger."

She had no wand. He could walk away from this. Go find Goyle. Go report. Go jump off a very large building and try to fly. He shook his head a little, tossing a few pieces of hair from stormy eyes that seemed more shadowed than Hermione had ever remembered them being. Something about the way he looked at her unnerved her. It was a look of utter hate, she knew. But something in it had changed. And that made her uneasy. Hermione took a wary step backwards, her body instinctively curling up a bit more, her back arching to make herself smaller.

Draco looked at her, and bowed in a graceful sweeping manner, his legs only a little stiff. "Miss Langt," he commented, all the confusion and bitterness that he felt seeping into his words.

Then he turned. And he walked away.

Hermione's jaw dropped a little as she watched him. _You have no idea, Granger._ What was that supposed to mean, she wondered? And the bow? Hermione stood up straight, her legs trembling now that her fear was subsiding. She had to get back, she knew. She had to think. Maybe that would help.

* * *

**A/N**: There's chapter three; everyone be appeased. Four is only partially done, as school is trying to eat me alive I think. I have a three day weekend, so perhaps I'll get plenty done. Not to mention the fact that I'm going on a beach trip. A two hour car ride time for Sketchy to write. Praise Allah. Thank you everyone who has reviewed -- it's been kinda shitty here, and the reviews really make my day. Hope everyone's well and enjoying the fic! And if anyone would be my beta, that would be nifteh... my current one is rather busy and so this is only partially beta-ed. I'm sorry for any horrible mistakes. Sketchy -- 10/12/06 


	4. Do you really think nothing has changed?

Warnings: There is some light slasher stuff in this chapter.

Chapter four – Do you really think nothing, nothing has changed?

Hermione's legs were unsteady as she made her way back to Grimmauld place. She couldn't believe what had just happened – most of it was still a surreal blur for her. Her hands were trembling as she opened the door quietly. For being mid-day, the place was tranquil and slightly empty. Hermione made her way precariously to her room. Remus was still sleeping. It'd only been a day or two since he'd had his moon phase, and it made him prone to sleeping in much more than usual. Hermione laid down cautiously. She was glad that he'd gone back to sleep – she'd forgotten that he did that. But now it was a life-saver. Something caused her to think that she wouldn't really be giving off the best of vibes at the moment.

Shaking a little still, she curled up under the blankets, as far onto her own side as possible. Remus's warmth radiated through the bed. Her shivers stopped after a while, and finally, she dipped off into sleep.

* * *

Her dream was strange, very strange she knew. She was sitting down to afternoon tea with Harry and Ron. They were in her parents house, their old house. Before the war. Before they died. She was reaching out to touch Ron's face, muttering to herself as he laughed at her, "Come off it, Hermione. Getting all touchy-feely on me." He was smiling, just like he always had when she'd shown any sort of affection. A little nervous but liking it, the warm hint of a blush on his cheeks. Hermione frowned a bit. In the back of her mind, she knew this couldn't be real. That they weren't actually still alive. She bit her lip, and looked to Harry.

Harry was gazing at his tea, slouched into his chair, his hair tousled over his face a bit. He looked up to her with a tired smile, and commented quietly, "We fought the good fight, Hermione. Don't worry about that." Was this what she so desperately needed to hear? To hear these boys – men, really – tell her these things? That it hadn't been in vain? That they cared… a little, at least?

Hermione swallowed hard. Dream or not, she could at least take advantage of her mind's tricks. "Yeah, we sure did." She smiled weakly at him and lifted her own tea, her hand trembling as she held it. She lifted it to her lips, sipping at it. Peppermint, she thought to herself in a bit of a haze. She'd always been fond of peppermint.

But had they really fought the good fight? She didn't know. They had lost, and atrociously at that. There were hardly any of them left now… Somehow things like that made her doubt whether they'd fought the good fight, or a pointless slaughter. She stared at her tea, watching as Ron stood and stretched. "You'll do fine, girlie." He grinned at her, more carefree than Hermione could remember seeing him. He walked out of the room, to where the kitchen was, and left her alone with Harry.

She was shaking still. She kept thinking to herself that she really needed to invest in some dreamless potions. They were foul things, but at least they'd keep things like this from happening. Memories surfaced and they scared her more than the prospect of what was really happening in the world. She didn't need her only safe haven – sleep – to become so rooted with horrible things that she couldn't even enjoy her escape.

"I'm so confused, Harry." Her whole body felt strangely numb at her thoughts. How could she ever explain to him, what it was like to be inside his brain? To be so able to define how Draco felt, what he did, why he did it? How could she ever explain that… she didn't hate him as much. It wasn't as though she actually liked him, no, nothing like that. But he seemed more real to her now. Not such a shadowy enemy who had taunted her all through her school years. Instead he was solid, and he had feelings too. Feelings that Hermione probably could've done quite well without knowing of. But she did know of them, nonetheless, and now she had to process them. Hermione was never the type to let data slip out from under her and get away like that.

Harry gave her a serene smile and took another drink of tea. His green eyes were mocking her a little, as he commented in a low voice, "Hermione, you always know what to do. You just need to think about it." Harry had always told her she was one of the most dependable persons that he knew. Hermione swallowed hard and stood up on shaky legs. Dream or not, she wasn't going to let him slip away again.

Hermione curled up in Harry's lap, his arms wrapping around her. She was shaking more than usual and she could hear him whispering to her how things would be just fine – they'd work out. How she would solve it and then she could rest.

It felt wonderful to be curled up like this again, she thought to herself dreamily. How could she have forgotten how delightful he smelt? How could she have forgotten his feel, how he held her just hard enough to assure her she was safe, and yet was so gentle at the same time? She couldn't believe that she had, in many ways. He'd meant so much to her, and still did, but she had moved on. She wasn't going to lust after a man who was very obviously dead. But how nice it felt to be close to him again. She breathed deeply and sighed a little. Dreams, she knew, always ended. "I miss you." She wasn't going to argue with this Harry. He wouldn't know really what she was supposed to do. She always logically thought that dreams were useless. They were constructed by your own brain, and therefore, could only tell you things you already knew of in the first place.

Harry would tell her no fix-all. But she wasn't looking for one from him, either.

"I know." Harry paused, a second that was much too long for Hermione. "I miss you too." At those words, Hermione visibly melted into his arms, her entire body feeling like a puddle of gelatin. She could do no more than make a small whimpering sound before it all disappeared. She was still curled up in her lonely position, her world now black and blank. "Take care, love." She could still hear Harry's last words, his voice ringing with the cocky smile he'd been wearing at the time. She knew that scene by heart – how he'd left and she'd stayed strong with the others. How she'd snuck away after a while, the only reason she'd survived. There were many nights that she often wished that she hadn't snuck off and instead had died with all the rest of her friends. But she'd survived.

She awoke with a sudden lurching motion as she fell out of bed. Remus was up in a second, his face slightly pale as he peered over the edge at her. "Hermione? What's wrong?" The flash of Draco and Blaise that had greeted her at the end of her dream had made her already sensitive stomach take a small roll.

"Bathroom," she barely managed to mutter out before she darted off of the floor and into the tile-clad room. She made a skidding stop at the toilet and managed to score a perfect ten. Remus was still in bed, though he was moving out of it when she finally was done, leaning her sweating forehead against the back of the toilet. She'd moved up next to it, trying to make the shaking stop.

Remus was looking at her with pity and concern. The pity would've made her angry in any other situation, but at this point, it didn't really matter. "Hon? Are you okay?" His voice washed over her, calming the trembles a little as she lifted herself up further into a sitting position. Was she okay? Ha. How was she supposed to tell him about the things going on – about Draco and Blaise and Harry and how her thoughts weren't always on him as he hoped they were.

"Yeah, fine." She didn't put in the extra words to make it a full sentence; she just had to get out the basics so he wouldn't come and help her. She couldn't stand that. If she puked, well, damn it all, she was going to clean it up herself.

Remus went back to the bed, knowing when she got that tone that there was no helping her. He watched in silence as she cleaned up the floor, his own eyes tired and a little blood-shot. His hair was faintly stringy and greasy, his tossing and turning making it worse than it usually was. He picked at the blanket as he waited for her to finish cleaning up. "Ginny wanted to talk to you yesterday, but you were too absorbed."

By the tone of his voice, Hermione knew something was wrong. She'd managed to clean up the last bit of the mess and was straightening from her crouching position finally. At least Remus had brought her her wand to clean it up. It was amazing how useful that was. She wobbled on her legs a little, but managed to get to the bed. Half of her expected that Remus knew that she was using her studies to avoid him and the rest of the household. She would never admit it, but it was something that she was doing. She hadn't done it on purpose, at first. The first few days had been an escape of Draco and Blaise. But now she was so used to it, hiding, the feeling of solitude and the books that never did anything wrong… she couldn't help it. She had been cooking less, and her and Remus hadn't done more than hug in days. He was getting worried.

Slowly she climbed onto the bed, her body a little tipsy. She took a drink of the water that Remus handed her before she laid down, closing her eyes. "Okay. Thanks." The two words were cut short and awkward.

Hermione was trying to fall asleep, if only to distract Remus from her for a while. Remus, on the other hand, was calmly watching her. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly. He licked his lips in a nervous sort of way and then reached out to touch her shoulder. Hermione's eyes opened slowly and looked up at him. She was curled into the fetal position on top of the blankets.

"I-I can move back to my old room." A cold streak of dread slipped down Hermione's spine. He couldn't leave her, what else would she have left then? If she didn't have Remus, she didn't have anybody! The thoughts so mimicked Draco's that she merely blinked for a moment, her mouth opening and then closing. Were these worries her own, or Draco's?

Remus didn't think she wanted him. And it was a logical thing to think, she knew. With how she'd been acting lately. Hermione bit her lip gently before forcing herself to scoot closer to him, nuzzling into his chest as he wrapped an arm around her.

Remus was not Harry. He wasn't Draco, or Blaise. He wasn't perfect. But he was all she had.

* * *

Hermione woke in mid-afternoon to faint sunlight creeping through the window pane. The grime that covered it allowed only a pale glow to radiate through. It was almost like the grime was painted on – almost impossible to remove. It made the place even more depressing, if that was somehow possible. The sadness and frustration that constantly lived in the house had seemed to leak into the very walls and floorboards of the house. Sometimes Hermione swore she could hear Sirius grumbling in the hallways very late at night.

She rolled over quietly, facing Remus. He was watching her. She could tell he'd been awake by his breathing. His eyes were half-closed, as though he had almost managed to drift off to sleep, but somehow hadn't quite made it. He gave her a small smile that lasted for a second, like spring in the mountains, she thought to herself. Gone before you could enjoy it or get a suntan. Hermione reached out and touched his hair. She loved his hair. It was soft, like the furs that some women wore. While shopping, Hermione would trace her fingers over them. She hated taking fur from helpless little animals to flaunt, but she couldn't help but reach out and touch them when she walked by them. They were always so soft. Remus' hair was like that. So soft she just had to touch it.

That was why she'd even gotten involved with him, as silly as it sounded to her now. When he'd found her crying, she'd moved hair from his eyes. From those tired brown eyes that were now looking at her with almost that same look. That lonely lost look. Her fingers slipped through his hair, brushing it away from his features, so worn. He wasn't nearly as old as he looked sometimes. His hair was frosted with grey now, the brown that he'd sported when she'd first met him lost long ago. Now only bands of it remained.

Remus knew he was a replacement. He'd thought he'd come to terms with that long ago. She wasn't what he'd imagined himself ending up with. But she had known so well that he couldn't offer her money or fame or anything that meant anything. But she hadn't cared. But did she now? Why did she flinch if he touched her? Why did she look at him without seeing him? He couldn't tell. He hadn't figured it out. Yet.

When she looked at him like that, he wanted to cry. As though he was taking something from her these days that she wasn't offering, but was too nice to retract just yet. Remus hated feeling like someone was about to pull the rug under him… but not quite yet. Sometimes he felt like he owed her so much. He was such a people pleaser at heart, he wanted so badly to make her happy. But he didn't feel like he could most times. Almost as if she wouldn't let him.

Hermione curled up with him for the time being. She wasn't going to let herself over think this. It was something that she just had to live with. "I love you, Remus." Her throat felt raw and her mouth felt betrayed. She'd never said those words to him all together like that. She'd called him love and hun, and maybe she'd said that during sex, but never just because. But she couldn't risk losing him.

Remus listened to her breathe for a few seconds before he pulled her tighter, wrapping his arms and legs around her. "I love you too, Hermione." He didn't know if it was true – maybe it was just need. Maybe it was all in his head and not his heart. But he wasn't going to let her sign of affection go to waste. It'd been a long while since he'd heard those words. His eyes slipped closed as he held her.

Neither could quite pinpoint who started the kissing, or who started removing the clothing first. Hermione laid curled up in Remus' embrace thinking. Remus had long ago drifted off. Sex always did that to him, Hermione noted in a bored tone of thought. Not that she minded. It gave her time to think and try to figure things out a little more.

Hermione finally managed to sneak out of the bedroom. It was dinner time when she made her way into the kitchen. It smelt a little burnt, and she could tell that Ginny had been trying to cook again. She knew Ginny wouldn't have bothered her to have her come and make food – she was too stubborn for that. Oliver must be out doing something… Pausing her thoughts, she rummaged through the kitchen, coming up with some sandwich materials and a glass of milk. She laid the extra sandwiches on the table for others and took her own to the living area. Ginny was in a chair, petting the stray cat they'd taken in a few days back. It was a grey tom with dark green eyes rimmed with silver. It had reminded them all so well of McGonagall that they'd taken him in. After he'd been poked and prodded at by the men for a few hours, they'd decided he really was just a cat. And so Mick now lived with them, prowling about and catching rats. He was still young enough to enjoy catching them more than eating them. Often the residents of the household would find 'gifts' from Mickey left at their door through the night.

Hermione sat down across from Ginny and offered her a sandwich. Ginny looked up and took one gratefully. "Thanks. Oliver's out with Moody and dad." She looked tired. But everyone seemed to be these days. Her hair was tied up almost severely in a ponytail. The bags under her eyes were more prominent, Hermione observed with a critical eye. But at least her and Oliver looked happy when they were together, and that more than anything made Hermione content enough to step back and not say anything.

Ginny fed the eager Mick a piece of meat from the sandwich and smiled faintly at him, the gesture lighting up her face a little more and causing Hermione to smile as well. That cat had been good for them, she thought pleasantly to herself as she took a bite of her sandwich. She hated how food no longer appealed to her – how it often tasted like cardboard in her mouth.

"Remus said you wanted to talk with me..?" Hermione inquired lightly after she'd managed to swallow the bite she'd taken. She had noticed she'd been losing weight. Her hips showed when she leaned back, her skin pulled taunt over the bone. She'd never been a super skinny girl – she'd always had a little stomach that most girls seemed to hate. It'd never bothered her. If she had lost any more weight she would've looked sickly, which she was starting to do now. Her chest was getting smaller, and Remus had pointed it out once or twice, that she needed to eat more. But the smell of food made her sick often so she skipped meals. Or she forgot. That was pretty common too.

She was a little worried about what Ginny wanted. It wouldn't be an urgent matter since she hadn't banged on her bedroom door earlier today. But for her to bring it up and not just wait until she ran into Hermione meant that it was something semi-important. Hermione set her sandwich down, glaring at it faintly.

Ginny nodded and finished her sandwich. Mick was curled up and sleeping, having begged a last piece of meat from Ginny. His paws were kneading gently at her leg. She was resting her hand on his back, petting him absently as she looked to the low fire. It was cold today, and thankfully someone had built one, so the rooms were warm enough to be comfortable. Ginny looked from the fire and smiled at Hermione, a sort of ironic smile – one that made her look selfless and a little guilty. "I'm pregnant."

Hermione hadn't been expecting that. She looked at her plate, her breath a little caught in her throat. "But…" She didn't say all the reasons that popped into her head. She didn't have to. The look that Ginny gave her told her she was well aware of the risks.

"I know," she murmured gently. There was so much turmoil in the world right now – she'd have to be half crazy to try and bring a baby into the world at this point of time. Hermione set her plate on the side-table and curled up into the chair, looking at the fire.

"It's not getting better, Hermione. I want a baby. And… Oliver does too. But I haven't told him." She flushed a little and commented lowly, "It was an accident, anyhow. My potion's expired."

Hermione had the distinct and sudden urge in her gut to run to her bathroom and make sure that hers weren't. She had been making batches of them on a regular basis for herself ever since her and Remus had moved into the same room… Ginny had learned from Hermione to make hers, and did it for herself to free Hermione up for more important work. But with all that had been going on lately, she couldn't blame her for missing. Not to mention that Ginny had risked her best friend and her lover at the ball. That couldn't have been easy, Hermione realized.

Sometimes she forgot to think about what others were going through and it made her think they were often being unreasonable or irresponsible. But what happened, had happened, she knew.

But she did want children. But Remus'? She swallowed hard and instead tried to concentrate on Ginny and her baby. Her baby was already well on its way and she had Oliver. "How far are you?" She knew who would be delivering the baby and she might as well get comfortable with that fact.

"Four months." Ginny smiled a little and rubbed her stomach. "I thought I was eating too much for a while, but then I realized that was silly to think." Nobody ate enough in the house to begin with. Overeating was a laughable thought and hardly plausible.

"You going to tell Oliver?" Hermione was a little flattered that Ginny had told her first. Lately she'd felt so disconnected from her friends that she was surprised, and genuinely touched, that Ginny had told her.

"When he gets home tonight from watch. I… I wanted to make sure you thought it was okay." She had a stubborn set to her jaw, as though she didn't need Hermione's approval. Though Hermione knew it was just a show – that she very deeply wanted her okay. But that was how people were these days. She knew that from Remus. He was always making sure it was okay before doing something, usually to the point that she would've rather just done it herself than have asked him to.

"Of course. We could use some new blood here." Hermione smiled gently at Ginny. The girl was only a year younger than Hermione, but sometimes Hermione was the one who felt younger. When did she get all those worry lines, she wondered to herself? And did her hair always look so dull? Hermione pushed some hair back from her face, her eyes on the fire before she stood up.

"Oh, thank you Hermione!" Ginny's eyes had lit up so happily that Hermione couldn't help but sigh inwardly. "And you'll deliver her, won't you?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Ginny. "Her?" There was of course ways that people could tell, even in the wizarding world. But Hermione hadn't thought Ginny would be the type to use something to tell her. She seemed more the type to enjoy a surprise.

Ginny grinned and pet Mick who had roused a bit at her joyful exclamation. "It's a feeling I've got." Her smile faded as she looked to the fire, and commented quietly. "Ron always wanted a girl. When he grew up." At the mention of Ginny's brother, Hermione paled a bit.

And then she ran.

* * *

Draco groaned in the back of his throat as Blaise nudged at his neck, moving the pale boy's chin back so he could nibble at his neck. The room was dark, lit only by a few spare candles. A flicker of pale cream skin, a flash of dark hair and the whimper of a perfect spot found. Draco hadn't been able to concentrate lately. Ever since he'd backed down from Granger, he'd felt different. A little off. He'd been escaping to Blaise more often than usual, trying to find his old self.

Why hadn't he killed her while he had the chance? That would've shot a bullet into the heart of every Order member, he knew. She was their treasure. Their survivor, role-model. She was the brain.

Draco gasped a little as Blaise's rather cold hand slipped under his pants. His eyes closed a little for a second, a small whimpering sound coming from him. Blaise was teasing, as usual. He always did that when he was feeling sub and wanted Draco to act on it. Draco wasn't really feeling all that dominant, but he supposed that he could try a little. If only to distract himself.

Growling a little with frustration, Draco grabbed Blaise and rolled him onto his stomach. Blaise let out a happy purr like sound and wiggled only a little. Draco grabbed at Blaise's pants and pulled them down, smooth olive skin warm under his hands. He traced his fingers down Blaise's back, rubbing at his spine a little as his other hand worked at his pants. The room was a little cold, but that was starting to fade as Draco's body warmed itself up.

Good old sex, he thought to himself cynically.

His mind wasn't even on sex as much as it should've been. Sure, it still felt nice to be in Blaise, to be on him, to let his hands roam, spilled milk on a dusty path, his hair in his eyes a little. Blaise making noises into the pillows, his legs clenching.

Sex is just sex, he thought to himself.

What would she do, he wondered out of the blue. Would she let him do this? Would she like it? Would she fight, or let him? Is her skin as pale as his, or sun-kissed? Honeyed cream, or freckled? Does she close her eyes? Would she say his name if he asked her to? Told her to? If he didn't mention it?

Draco gave a little moan as he came, his hand wrapped around Blaise to play at him gently. Blaise was sagging a little into the bed after having come as well. Draco removed himself from Blaise and stood up on the side of the bed, pulling his pants up and doing the buckle of his belt. He didn't want to be here with Blaise. Not while she was on his mind so much.

Would she cry?

Blaise looked at him curiously, now rolled over onto his side, his own pants pulled up and done up halfway and lazily. Blaise knew there was something wrong with Draco, but he hadn't mentioned it. He'd caught him tossing and turning a little last night, when they'd slept in Blaise's room. Neither of them had found a wife, so they still allowed each themselves to see the other. Though Blaise somehow doubted that having a wife would've stopped either of them for very long.

Draco pulled on his white shirt and started buttoning it up with more concentration than it would've taken any other person.

Would she like it?

Pale grey eyes glanced up to Blaise as he picked up his stuff and left. Blaise hid the somewhat hurt look as he left. Draco had been busy doing something lately, and their time together was less and less personal. Draco didn't talk to him nearly as often, and if he did, it was never about the thing that was bothering him.

* * *

Draco's father had summoned him before dinner. That was always when he was summoned when he was in trouble. Lucius didn't want to have Draco puke dinner up on his carpet if he had to use Crucio on him. Draco fixed his shirt a little and looked in the mirror. His blank features hid the concern and worry that he felt when it came to Granger and the choices he'd made concerning her.

Had he done the right thing? He didn't know. He supposed he'd figure it out eventually.

She would've killed him. Of that, he didn't doubt for a second. So why hadn't he killed her? Between Voldemort's loyal subjects and those who rebelled, it was a very dog eat dog world. It wasn't much different within Voldemort's circle, but it did blur more often, at the very least. Draco walked down the hallways at a leisurely pace. He wasn't in a hurry to face his father. These type of meetings never turned out to really be all that enjoyable, and somehow Draco didn't think this one would be different.

His father didn't greet him. That was usual. Instead he was staring at his little collection of various treasures and statues when Draco walked in. He did not sit, but stood instead. He was feeling defiant, but not that defiant. Mostly, he felt nervous. He didn't want to be stuck in a room with his father, on his grounds and terms. Mostly, he just wanted to go back to his room and sit in his chair and watch the fire dance. Even Blaise would be considerably better company, even if he had been sulking lately.

"You found nothing on your outing with Goyle, yes?" Lucius' voice grated on Draco's ears as Draco nodded.

He soon realized that his father still had his back to him. "Nothing. Though Goyle did find a decent restaurant, apparently." Goyle had been… distracted by a Thai restaurant that had been selling food on a stand. Draco could just see him looking around frantically and following his nose like a dog to the source of the scent.

Lucius turned to face Draco, his long blonde hair elegant as usual. His dark clothing made his features appear more pale than usual. His eyes, long ago hardened by greed and power-hunger, narrowed on his son. What a waste of blood and flesh. "Don't be pert, Draco." Lucius sat down and motioned for Draco to do the same.

After a pause, Draco did. He lounged in the chair, though his body was a little more tense than he wanted it to be. He felt like his father was working up to something, saving something to catch him off guard after he got him to relax a little. Lucius poured out a drink of firewhiskey for each of them and pushed it to Draco.

Draco took it warily, and took a sip only after his father had. He knew his father didn't like him, but he didn't trust him enough not to do something horrible to him just to amuse himself. "You still haven't found that girl." Lucius voice was blunt and emotionless. Sometimes Draco wondered what hid behind that mask he always wore.

Draco didn't reply. What was the point? His father was right – if he replied, it would only be viewed as a sarcastic comment. And he didn't want to offer something helpful. He'd already figured it out, and he didn't think he was very inclined to share his findings with his father. He could rather do without Lucius knowing what he'd done. It would've set him back. He knew that his father was only after him to get a wife so badly because he wanted to make sure that his line was passed on. That he could teach his grandchildren like dogs. So that they'd be more useful than his son.

Draco took a larger drink and stared at the desk that was between him and his father. "That was foolish of you, to act so towards the Dark Lord. You know it hasn't been easy for him lately." What he was referring to was the headaches their mighty ruler had been receiving lately. They'd been causing him more trouble than even the Order had been. Draco snorted softly. Foolish or not, he'd had to do it. He just hadn't been into groveling that day.

"You should've been more careful with Pansy. Then we wouldn't have had this issue at all." His father was needling at him, Draco knew. But it got to him none-the-less.

He glanced up and replied quietly, "She got herself killed, and you damn well know that."

Lucius cracked a small cruel smile and shrugged it off, brushing the comment away as one would a fly. "That doesn't mean you're excused from finding a wife." Something in Lucius told him how much his son hated this – being broken and tamed and forced into a corner. Something in him enjoyed seeing him squirm and get angry. His son was worthless. It was only by luck he'd managed to do anything useful. He hadn't even been able to kill off Dumbledore when presented with the chance. The best Lucius could hope for was that he'd give him a few nice healthy sons before he… accidentally died.

"I'm working on it." A blatant lie. But Draco wasn't in the mood to care. He didn't really feel like appeasing his father tonight. There was other things he worried about more. His father was not one of them. He knew as long as he didn't provide heirs, he was for the time being, quite safe.

"For a Malfoy, you are a terrible liar." Lucius took a sip of his drink and set it down. "Must be your mother's side." Draco glared at his father. Though he wasn't fond of his mother, he didn't like his parentage to be insulted as a general rule. Not that he gave a damn about his father. But his mother was another story.

"Leave her out of it."

Lucius made a little disapproving sound before waving his hand at Draco. "Go, before I get irritated."

Draco scowled a bit as he stood, but not before downing the rest of his firewhiskey. He wouldn't mind something to take the edge off all this shit, he thought to himself. Why not drink his father's stash instead of his own? He turned on his heel and stalked to the door.

The lingering words of Lucius' threat reached Draco's ears as he slammed the door. "If you don't find one soon, I _will_ take drastic measures…" Merlin he hated his voice. How it was so blank and monotone with all that threat underlying it. As if he needed to hide it. In this day and age, the name Malfoy was threat enough.

Draco made his way back to his room. He didn't feel like attending dinner. Blaise would find him later, but that'd give him enough time to think things out a bit.

Out of all the confusion that mingled in his brain, Draco knew one thing for sure: he had to find her. If only to figure out how she knew those things about him, who she'd told, what she planned to do with it all… and to figure out why he didn't kill her when he had the chance.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so there's chapter four. Hope everyone likes it. Yeah. This story is a lot longer than I thought it would be. Whatever. I'm enjoying it. Chapter five will be in the works shortly. Random notes: Remus' eye colour is unknown -- I made them brown. Also, the title "Paper Faces on Parade" is from the Phantom of the Opera, suggested so kindly by by beta. Just wanted to confirm that. So... ya dig it? -- Sketchy 10/14 (Don't expect an update until the weekend, folks. I've got a full week coming up. And reviews are brain fodder, I swear.) 


	5. Today I felt sun in the shadows

Chapter five – Today I felt sun in the shadows

Hermione hardly noticed Remus shaking her. She had been at her studies again – hiding from the world and trying to make sense of this new situation with Ginny. Hermione was happy for her, she really was. She was happy for herself too. A baby in the house would give them all something to take pride and joy in. She couldn't wait to see how Oliver would take the news – she imagined he'd be so proud. It didn't matter that it was an accident.

Hermione glanced up from the corner of her eye at Remus, stretching her arms out in front of her as she sighed. "Hon, are you okay?" Remus' brown eyes were narrowed in concern as he slowly lifted his hand from her shoulder, tucking it into the pocket of his shabby coat. Remus had never let Hermione patch up his things. He'd always preferred to keep his comfortable old heirlooms that he'd had since she'd been in his class – and longer.

"Oh, yeah. Fine." Her mouth opened for another yawn and she stretched back. The clock next to her ticked away quietly, informing her that it was well into the night. She should've known that Remus would come searching for her as soon as it got late and near time to sleep.

"You coming to bed?" His eyes showed less concern now. He smiled faintly at her, his face still glowing a little from earlier events. Hermione blushed a little, not realizing she was.

She wouldn't admit she felt a little guilty, like she was leading him on. But she did love him, maybe just not in the way he wanted her to. Was that such a crime? She didn't know. "Uh, yeah." She felt like she was wearing an imposter's mask. Was this how Tonks felt sometimes? She stood carefully, folding her books up and gently placing markers in them. Her notes remained in the notebook, the scrawling letters lengthening and wobbling as she had gotten more and more tired.

Remus smiled again, that smile that told her that he was pleased because she was pleased. Hermione pushed thoughts of defensive spells away from her head for the time and walked to the bedroom with Remus. It was a quiet walk, awkward only for her, most likely. But it was decent enough.

When the arrived in the room, the only light was from a few scant candles. They were spelled to burn without really burning, but the spell was a little complex. To feed the fire and not let it consume the wax was tricky. It'd taken Hermione a while to figure out what good that spell was, but when she had, it'd become immensely useful. All the Order members now had candles that would never gutter out or burn down.

Remus went straight for the bathroom to take a quick shower as he often did before bed when he was nervous. Hermione instead headed for the bed and flopped on it. She finally managed to convince herself to change into her pajamas, and sat on the bed waiting for Remus. She was picking at a toenail absently. The damn hangnail had been bothering her for ages it seemed like. Her eyes were fixed on the comforter, her eyes gently and calmly tracing the pattern as she waited.

Remus finally emerged from the bathroom, a towel casually wrapped around his thin frame. His ribs were showing a bit, and Hermione frowned at that. She didn't like seeing the obvious signs of how this war was taking a toll on all the members. They all seemed to never eat enough, and none ever got very good sleep. The mother instinct in Hermione worried constantly about her fellow Order members. How were they going to survive this if they could hardly take care of themselves? They were already beaten halfway at least – physically they had little to go on but adrenaline.

Her thoughts drifted from that thought as Remus changed into his own pajamas. Soon he was clad in a tattered old pair of sweatpants. He clambered onto the bed with almost no grace at all, but somehow managed it. Hermione smiled at him a little and reached out to touch his cheek briefly. Remus smiled at her in return as he reclined, lounging a little as he watched her with half-closed eyes.

"Did Ginny tell you the news?" Hermione asked as she picked now at the lint on the blanket.

"She mentioned it in passing, if the pregnancy is what you're talking about." Remus hadn't quite formed his own opinion on the whole thing. The thought of having a baby around appealed to him because he absolutely adored children. They were so easy to make smile and laugh. They were always happy and playful and an absolute joy, as far as he was concerned.

Hermione gave a smile that much resembled a new mother and commented lowly as she laid down, stretching out a little closer to Remus. "I… I've been thinking, lately."

Remus looked at her curiously and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer as he mumbled, his heart beating a little faster in his chest. "About..?" He didn't know where this was leading, but she was letting him hold her and touch her and talk to her and she wasn't immediately dismissing him. That had to count for something, didn't it? And since when did Hermione stutter?

"About us. Having kids." Hermione flushed a little. Why not, she thought? It wasn't as if she herself did anything so important and vigorous that her being pregnant would incapacitate her. She kept going, rambling, trying to dignify her comments with something that would make sense – "Not to mention Ginny's kid will need someone to play with other than all you men." She knew Mickey would keep the child company, but who knew how much he would put up with a child? Dogs were more child associated than cats, anyhow. Good ol' Mick, she thought a little approvingly. She'd always been a cat person.

Remus fumbled around for words in his head. He didn't say his rambling out loud, but instead thought about it internally. It gave him a little more privacy and some time to think it out. He had always wanted children, but after he got bitten by Fenrir, he didn't think it would be possible. Who would ever want to sleep with him, let alone have children? But Hermione did…

But he wasn't really who she wanted. Remus swallowed and looked at her. Hermione was staring at the blanket. His hand was still placed on her hip. He could see that her cheeks were a little red. She had some good points, and he knew that she would be a good mother. And if he wouldn't give her children, who would? It wasn't as if she had all the male populace to choose from. Finally, he nodded, mostly to himself since Hermione wasn't looking at him.

"Okay."

Hermione looked up, her eyes showing some surprise, which faded gradually into pleasure. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure." Remus grinned at her a little smugly and leaned in to kiss her. "You and Ginny could do with something to keep you busy, anyhow. Instead of bugging us men folk."

Hermione glared at him, playfully smacking his chest a little. "You men folk are the ones who are always bothering us." She stuck her tongue out at him before curling up into his embrace.

She couldn't sleep. Hermione rolled over again, disengaging herself from Remus. She would stop taking her potions in a few days, after they cycle had ran out. Though they both were aware that she was still on it, and couldn't get pregnant, they'd had sex anyways. Hermione felt bad because she'd enjoyed it, just a little. Remus was a sensitive lover, very caring. She knew she'd gotten a good deal with him – he was very devoted and eager to please. Always so eager to please. Maybe it was a bad thing and she just hadn't figured it out? What would it be like with someone else? Someone… like Malfoy. Someone who wasn't always thinking about the other person, and was in fact, thinking about themselves some of the time?

No matter how much she hated Malfoy, she'd known his thoughts during the scene with Blaise. He'd been enjoying himself, but he was helping Blaise along just as much.

Hermione bit her bottom lip a little before rolling out of the bed, her feet touching the cold floor with a little jolt swimming through her. She hated cold morning floors. Though it wasn't really morning so much as early morning, or very late evening. The clock ticked away merrily on her nightstand. Sometimes she wished they didn't need clocks all over. It would be nice to be able to tell the time from the sunlight, from the smell of the day. But it was too dark in the house for that.

Hermione sighed and wearily pulled on her clothing. She would go for a walk. It was late enough that no one would stop her, and she could use the fresh air, in all honesty. Once outside, she made her way down the street. There was a cool evening breeze, the wind tumbling through her hair, lifting pieces and teasing them out of her loose bun. Her hands were in her pockets, the light jacket that she'd grab proving to be enough to keep her warm enough.

She was surprised, to say the least, when she heard the hissing words coming from the shadows. "Mudblood." She drew her wand, her body tightening in instinct, but it was no use. Darkness swamped her senses and she let it. Fighting wasn't an option at this point.

* * *

Goyle grinned at Theodore Nott and quickly moved to pick up Hermione. Goyle was bursting with suppressed joy. He'd been searching for a way to get an easy promotion – a way to get some kind of recognition in the inner circle of Voldemort's followers. What better way to do so than to bring him the Granger girl – alive and ready for whatever he wanted from her?

Goyle had no interest in her personally. She'd saved his arse a couple times in potions, but other than that, he was neutral. He generally felt bad for people when Voldemort had a grudge against them. It wasn't really a good thing for their health or sanity. But this was one person Goyle wouldn't have time to pity. He'd been too busy rejoicing. He was already imagining the scene in his head.

"Stop grinning like that, prick. You're scaring away the women." Theo grumbled at Goyle, watching with cold calculation as a group of giggling girls crossed the street, talking in hushed whispers. Theo had been the one to spot Hermione and quickly dispose of her. He hadn't even seen her draw her wand. It had been a swift process, and Theo was also thinking of what would be to gain from this little escapade. Voldemort had been prying at him to find a wife as well. Since the Notts weren't nearly as notable as the Malfoys, there was a significantly different amount of pressure on him. Even Blaise had been pressured more these days. Not that anyone expected Blaise to produce anything unless they got him drunk and shoved him in bed with the woman. Even then, Theo suspected he would have problems finding the right hole. He snorted and walked a little faster.

He'd figure out what the mudblood had been doing out in the night by herself later. Maybe it was a good thing that Voldemort had sent them to check this area again – it just kept turning up to have the most interesting events occur in it.

* * *

Draco woke from his fairly sound sleep with a jerk. He could barely make out Blaise's face in the muted lighting. He was standing over him, grimacing down at him. "Draco, they brought in an Order member. They want you." Draco was one of the best people to get information out of prisoners as of late. Voldemort's headaches kept him from doing it personally, so Draco got to have all the… fun. Draco groaned. He could feel that today was going to be a dreadful night just from the way things were starting out. He'd had an all right evening with Blaise, and he'd actually been feeling decent at the end of it all. But now… He sighed.

"Who?" He managed to mutter as he rolled out of bed, pulling on his clothing in a jittered rush. Finally, he managed to stand, his clothing rumpled and disheveled only here and there. Blaise sighed and shook his head as he moved to pull on the hem of Draco's shirt, straightening it out.

"Not sure. It's a woman, I know that much." Blaise eyed Draco once more before nodding curtly, as if he were a school teacher excusing a particularly troubled child.

Draco's walk to the dungeon was long and tedious. He hated the Malfoy manor more than ever. He hated all the dark corners and the smell of mildew and mold the further you went into the ground. The stone floors were poorly managed in this part of the mansion, and only plain cloth torches lit the walls. His shoes made a loud echo, short and clipped, as he descended into the depths.

The creaky door was cracked open and he could hear Voldemort issuing orders. His father stepped out from the door, and spotted Draco. He gave him a slow smirk. "Oh, good. You're here." His father paused for a moment, then added. "He wants you." Both of them were well-aware of who 'he' was. They would never use it to refer to anyone else as such.

Draco merely nodded, having not gotten enough sleep to dignify his father with a response. He stepped into the small room, his nose wrinkling at the smells that assaulted him. He couldn't stand the smell of rot and death. He still had nightmares about it if he wasn't careful to avoid those type of thoughts near his bedtime. Voldemort hovered over the crumpled form in the corner of the dank room, his smile enough to send a few shudders down Draco's back. Everyone knew Blaise was frightened a little of Voldemort. So was Draco. He just hid it better. But seeing him grin like that, well, he hadn't been that happy since he'd gotten his hands on Potter.

He could discern the female shape, vaguely. More than anything though, he knew that bushy hair. Hair that was almost tamable, but who the owner of it never had the time or vanity to care for it. Inwardly, Draco sighed. It was going to be a long night, indeed.

Before him sat Hermione Granger, prize jewel of the Order of the Phoenix.

When she noticed him, she looked suddenly more like a caged animal. She pressed herself further up against the wall and hissed between her teeth, her eyes narrowing to small slits. She appeared more like the cat she'd presented herself as that night of the ball than she ever had before. Of all the animals Granger reminded him of, a cat was not one of them. And surely not as one as alluring as the one she'd pulled off earlier.

Voldemort looked to Draco with a small smile, if you could call it that. It was more like his face contorting into a strange shape that didn't really resemble much. His eyes were small slits, narrowed in on Draco for the time being before flickering back to Hermione. "Do what you want, as long as she lives. I want a report presented within a day." With that, he turned and left.

Draco and Hermione were alone.

* * *

Hermione was shivering in the corner. She'd tried to tell herself again and again that she shouldn't shiver. It wouldn't matter. She was strong enough to keep herself from actually telling anything of value to them. She had practiced that sort of thing a hundred times over, and she knew she was proficient enough to withstand that. It was everything else that mattered to her. What would happen to Remus? And Ginny's baby? The thought of never seeing them all again tore at her heart more than anything else.

Being alone with Draco didn't help. She still hadn't figured out what he was playing at. And the memories between him and Blaise still haunted her.

Draco was pacing around the closed door. Hermione was watching him through slit eyes, studying him. She had no illusions about her that she would be able to somehow get past him and escape. Her only hope was to infuriate him enough to cause him to kill her. That was her only hope for release. Somehow, in a strange way, the thought was almost comforting. Knowing her plan of action, Hermione waited.

Draco swallowed as he paced. He'd forgotten about Hermione for a moment. For the time being, he was going over Voldemort's words in his head. The Dark Lord had taken him back into his good graces, it seemed. Hermione was his to do with as he pleased. He'd known that she had been a source of much irritation in his school years. Draco well knew that any other Death Eater would be more than happy to get a go at her.

In a sudden burst of anger, Draco turned on her, glaring, "What the hell possessed you to get caught, you idiot?" He couldn't help it. He wanted so badly to go back to sleep. But no. He had to pretend he was here in this dank, dark, suffocating little room taking advantage of poor little Granger.

Here was her chance, she knew. "I just missed you so much, Dracy. I couldn't resist." That name had gotten to him last time, and she hoped it would still do so now. She sat up a little straighter and shifted around a bit, her arms wrapped around herself defensively.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her, his teeth showing in a sneer. "Don't call me Dracy, mudblood." He hadn't used that word in years, he noted to himself, but none-the-less continued to watch her, strands of pale blond hair brushing across his face. It was fluffy and many pieces were awry due to his just-awakened state. Draco turned from her, not noticing her sharp little intake of air as she cringed at the name. She wasn't as numb to that, either.

Hermione was thinking quickly. Though his comment still stung, she knew that she had to somehow get him irritated, get him worked up enough to kill her, to mortally wound her. She stared into his back, and started slowly, "How's Blaise?" It was an innocent enough question, though Hermione noticed his hands start to clench at his sides.

"Don't bring him into this, Granger." Draco shifted his weight onto his other foot, still refusing to look at her. He didn't want her to realize how much she was getting to him.

Hermione bit her lip a little before continuing, her gaze hardening a bit on Draco. "Why not… Dracy? Blaise just _adores_ getting into you, doesn't he?" That was a bit crude, she noted to herself, but it was enough, apparently.

Draco turned on her quickly, flashing around with his eyes dancing. "How do you know that!" He still hadn't figured out how she could've gotten that information. He wasn't bothering to deny it. He could see the smug look in her features, see how her smile slanted a little, how here eyes mocked him. He growled at her, his words quiet, "If you prefer, I could always just turn you over to the Dark Lord."

Her eyes widened a bit at that, before she narrowed them and shook her head. "You wouldn't."

Draco smirked at her, haughty. "Don't think I wouldn't, Granger. I couldn't care less about you." He of course, wouldn't actually be able to hand her off, but Draco needed to have the upper hand in some way. Some form that would make him feel a little better, at least.

Hermione scowled at him a little and bared her teeth. "Oh yes, let me tell him of you and Blaise. What you and him do when no one's around. Should I yell it? Could they hear me, Dracy?" She opened her mouth to yell, pausing only a second.

Suddenly Draco was on her, wrestling with her, his hand over her mouth. He was rough, his knees on each side of her leg, straddling her. One hand was pressed flat against the wall beside her head, his other palm against her mouth. His face was close to hers, mere inches. She could see in detail the flecks of pale blue intertwined with the grey. How the dark rim around them made them appear deeper than they ever had before. "Don't you fucking dare, you little bitch."

Hermione's eyes opened as they rolled a bit. She hadn't had time to catch her breath, and it was hard to with his hand. She clawed at him, squirming. She didn't want him on her! He was a disgusting little ferret, she would be contaminated. She finally managed to persuade him to get his hand off her, her nails having left visible angry red marks down his hand. She pulled in a ragged gasp, and retorted snidely, "Get the hell off me, ferret boy." Her throat hurt from gasping at the air, her head was spinning a little.

Draco sneered at her and pressed her arms up against the wall, leaning forward on her, his teeth bared. "Don't tell me what to do, mudblood." He stretched, quickly moving so that he had both her hands above her head. His other hand dropped carelessly, resting on her breast as he watched her; he was still leaning up against her, studying her. "I can do whatever I want with you. So you'd best listen to me if you want out of this relatively unscathed."

Hermione was almost to the point of panicking. His hand touching her so casually on her side made her flinch. The same hand that had touched Blaise, that had held her during the dance, that had held the wand that had killed people. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, her body as rigid as a washboard. The coarse stone behind her back made her whimper a little. Her clothing was torn in a few places, her skin rubbing unpleasantly against the rough wall.

"Now, little Granger, you're going to nod like a good little girl and agree to my terms… or my hand won't be the only thing that's exploring." His hand dropped threateningly to her hips, his nails digging in as he gripped at her, his own hips digging at her.

The thought of fucking Granger did nothing for him, and quite honestly, it made his stomach queasy. That's what he was supposed to do, he knew. That's what Voldemort wanted him to do. It's what he should do.

Draco pushed the thoughts away, glad that he'd finally managed to get her attention more fully and started out quietly. His voice was like honey poured slowly from the spoon. "I'm going to get you out of this, if only to keep your mouth shut. I have to work on it. But you tell anyone anything… anything at all… and your clothing won't be keeping you nearly as safe as it has been." A hollow threat. He wouldn't be capable of that. He never had a stomach for it. He'd done it, yes, of course. It was almost demanded in his line of work. But he'd never enjoyed it. Not like the others. It often caused his body to react in terrible ways afterwards. But Draco was ever the actor.

It was how he survived.

Hermione nodded at him, almost absently, her mouth still parted in a little 'o' shape. "O-okay." She didn't like this. But he would try to get her out? What was the worst that could happen? And if she managed to escape… Well, she wasn't going to give up the chance.

"Good girl." With one last little hip thrust, he moved off of her, dusting himself off with a disdained look as he glanced around the room. He needed things to look a little convincing, at least. He placed his hands on his hips as he surveyed the area, his eyes stopping on Hermione. "Give me your shirt." His hand was held out as he waited for it. It was a demand in every sense of the word. From the way he said it too his stance.

Hermione hesitated for a second before complying. It was cold. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself. She'd been pawed at a bit and her bra was askew, but she wasn't going to fix it in front of Malfoy. Not when he was watching her like that, at least.

Draco held the shirt and placed some carefully done tears in it. He tossed the shirt back at her, refusing to look at her too obviously. He could barely contain himself as he muttered to her, "Nice bra, Granger. Glad to see you're female after all." It was red. And a little lacy. She had worn it because she knew Remus liked it.

Now she was blushing, pulling her shirt on quickly. Her whole body felt strangely numbed and detached. Draco looked over her once again. She was staring at her lap, her body curled up in that same corner. He could almost pity her then.

"I'll be back later. I have work to do." He looked at her directly, his eyebrows pulled together a little to imply he was talking about her, before he left. He just knew it was going to be a long day. He sighed. "Nothing's ever simple," he commented lowly as he left the area. He straightened his shirt, nodded to the guards posted, and exited to his quarters. Time to get to work.

* * *

**A/N**: Here's a short little update. Hope it's okay. Hope you all enjoy. Take care. Sorry, been busy. I'll have a large amount of free time this month, so cross your fingers? 


	6. Those shadows used to eat at me

Chapter six – Those shadows used to eat at me

Hermione tried to doze a little. She did, on and off, between the nightmares. But her fears and her dreams weren't separated by much. She was soon filled to the brim with anxiety, her whole body itching with it. She moved around a bit, still in her same corner. Hermione didn't want to leave the corner. Goyle and Theo had come in and jeered at her a bit, Goyle having a look in his eye that made Hermione flush and hold her tattered shirt closer to her. Brute, she thought caustically as she turned around again. She had been happy when they'd left.

She didn't like to think about Malfoy. She didn't understand him. Obviously, he couldn't kill her, and he couldn't make her shut up for all eternity about him and Blaise. So he was casting her off as dirty laundry, and risking his position to do it. Hermione was impressed in a strange way. Draco actually taking a risk, stepping out of line to do something remotely nice for her. Though she knew it was only to hold his own position and standing secure. She wasn't into that whole denial thing these days. A little too cliché for her.

Hermione shifted a bit more and pulled her hair back from her face, her eyes darting about the wall. She could've sworn she'd heard a mouse – or worse, a rat – moving in the past few minutes. She was watching the floor around her with her breath held deep in her chest. The boxy room made her feel caged and trapped, a feeling Hermione didn't appreciate in the least. But that was the point, she knew.

She was just listing to herself the last of the spells she could remember when Draco stormed into the room, all fury and blazing anger. "Get the fuck up now, Granger, if you'd like to live."

Hermione stared at him in a daze for a moment before complying, letting him yank her up by the arm.

He had her out of the room, and she was breathless. The cold fresh air that had swept in with him now billowed around her, enveloping her like a wave tackled the beach. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing yet, much as the sand might be confused by its sudden sideways motion with the tide. But the wind chasing through her hair, though the tears in her shirt – it made her feel alive again. She felt stale and stagnated in rooms so small and dark, much like Grimmauld place. Though she never let onto that, because, hey, Hermione survived everything, and she had to live up to that as much as possible. If she was the backbone of the Order, she sure as hell was going to make sure the backbone was as steady as possible. She dreaded to think about what her fellow Order members were thinking of now. Would they panic? Or would they not even notice? She didn't think they were that clueless, and with the celebration of Ginny's baby soon to be out in the open… well, it'd be curious if she wasn't there.

She bit her lip and let Draco drag her along. She felt like she was floating above her body, watching the scene unfold below her with a calm composure. She saw Draco using spells – hey, that one looked a lot like hers…

When they hit fresh air, Hermione couldn't have been happier. Her legs were trying to cramp up on her from all the stairs, and her breathing was heavy and labored. Due just as much to adrenaline and actual physical exertion, she guessed. She was trying to catch her breath as Draco pulled her against the wall. "Stay still." His voice was quiet but demanding. It cut through her a little, and she started shaking. She was gonna die, that was all there was to it. There was no way they'd escape, even with Draco as her guide. Draco was fiddling with something. Her shivering had increased, and her eyes were closed. She could hear people coming out of the Malfoy manor, could hear them screeching. Draco was pushing her up against the wall, and Hermione was uncomfortable with the heat his body exuded. He was muttering to her, watching the events unfolding with half an eye. "There's a port key not too far. That's where they'll go first. We just have to sit and wait them out. The port key will be watched, of course. So I hope to Merlin that you can run fast enough. I don't want to kill too many people tonight."

Hermione almost felt sorry for him as she looked over him. It was… almost as though he didn't like killing people? "Nice, Malfoy. Good to know you have a heart after all." She muttered against his shoulder, still watching over him with her eyes wide as the wizards milled about. The small enclave that they'd hidden in had ivy and other climbing plants swallowing it slowly. She could feel a small scratch on her cheek bleeding as she closed her eyes, trying to breathe evenly.

She heard Draco growl, and looked up to see him glaring at her. "Stop being such a prick, mudblood. I'm trying to get you out of here." His eyes narrowed on her, his lips drawn into a tight line.

Hermione bared her teeth up at him. "Only so your little family won't be so disappointed that their prize son is gay." She didn't mean to make it sound so harsh, but she couldn't help it. Somehow Draco brought out the worst in her, and having him pressed up against her didn't help any. It made her feel like a cornered animal who had to defend itself against danger at all times. She hadn't forgotten his threat from earlier, or the way his nails had pricked at her skin, or how his eyes had flashed like they always did when he was mad. Draco was human, a creature of habit. At least with his body actions. Hermione knew he could act, but he didn't when he was truly mad. He was like Ron in that sense – he just lost all control he had. Hermione swallowed hard. Comparing Draco to Ron. Wouldn't he get a kick out of that.

She hid the small sob in a cough, and squirmed, trying to press herself back into the wall a little more. The area was barely big enough for them, and they were going to be touching no matter what position she squirmed into. Sighing as she slowly accepted that fact, she moved a bit more, getting off to the side so they weren't laying against each other, at least. Draco merely looked at her with a raised eyebrow, his eyes showing what bit of amusement he could possibly feel at the moment.

Draco's mind was on something completely different than Hermione at the moment. It was, in fact, on Blaise. Draco hadn't had time to tell him… not that he would've anyhow. Blaise would've stopped him somehow. He wouldn't have made it obvious, but he would've stopped him. Blaise had always been about thirty times more subtle than Draco could ever hope to be.

He didn't like how he noticed how she smelt. He didn't like that she smelled faintly of jasmine. It didn't sit well with him. He decided to try and ignore it, and instead peered out the vines. "I hid here when I was a kid." He hadn't really meant to tell her that – it wasn't something he tried to get out there, that he had spent much of his childhood alone and pushed aside. The few outings with his father were for show, if anything. They made him look good, as though raising his pureblood son like he should be. But in all reality, purebloods such as the Malfoy's never raised very good sons.

Draco intended to cut that line off. He didn't want to have sons who were raised as he had been – a trophy and a show toy, a means to an end. All that mattered to his father was Draco passing on the blood line… but Draco didn't really care. Malfoy. What a waste of a good name, he thought to himself as he stared out the crack. He'd thought of this place to hide while talking briefly to Blaise. The only downside had been that he'd forgotten how impeccably small the area was. He hadn't been here in years, not since he was a third or fourth year. He'd been a lot smaller then. The hiding place was placed well, close enough to the port key that he would be able to observe what was going on from a safe distance.

It might even provide them with a more sufficient way to escape, which was something that Draco desperately wanted. He didn't feel so bad for himself at the moment. He didn't mind what his family thought about him. It was Blaise he'd been worried about, though he wouldn't admit it. Deep down, he felt a lot of loyalty towards the other boy. He couldn't just let Granger go blabbering on and destroy his reputation. Blaise did have a good one, and he needed to uphold it while he still could. With his father gone, the only thing Blaise's family had left was their reputation. Draco sighed slowly, his eyes falling shut for a second. Flashes of smooth olive skin and sad brown eyes caused him to open them quickly though, his mouth parting a little. Stupid Granger. He lashed out, his words sharp and stinging, "I should just kill you and take the bloody beatings." He didn't look over to her, but he could feel the way she tensed up and seemed to press herself into the corner more, compressing into the wall, blending. Her face was so blank, he knew. That empty anger she used to get at him when he'd trip her or taunt her or do something.

Hermione pressed her lips together, her brow coming together as she scowled. She couldn't stand him. In school, he'd been a pest. Now, he was worse, if possible. A threat. A horrible man who should die in the worst way possible.

She'd think of one eventually.

"Leave then. I'll get out on my own." She stuck her chin out a little stubbornly and lifted her face to glance up at him. She didn't like that he was a good four inches taller than her own 5'7". It made her feel worse having to look up at him.

Draco looked down at her, down his thin nose with a sneer tilting at his lips. "Right. I just love risking having you get caught and ratting me out, wench." He almost looked amused; she thought she caught a faint glimmer of it in his eyes as he turned away from her. She knew it would be stupid to try and dodge out. She could still hear people milling around, though the trend seemed to be them heading back in. Draco had caught sight of his father briefly and couldn't help it when a faint wisp of utter joy prodded at him when he saw his face. He was mad. Hell hath no fury like a Malfoy scorned, Draco thought to himself, reliving with slow happiness how his father had looked, so disheveled and un-Malfoy. It was rare that he got to see him as such. Draco enjoyed it. Maybe there was a good reason for them catching the mudblood, then.

Hermione pouted in the corner. Draco could tell she was; he wasn't as dimwitted as Granger might've wanted him to be. Her fingers itched and her feet. The cold air outside was beginning to leak through the tears in her shirt, and the freedom she'd longed for began to seem almost as bad as her previous imprisonment.

Fine. If he wanted to be an arse about it, she'd just have to play it right back. "You could've killed me."

Draco growled. He didn't want her to bring that up. He was still trying to figure out exactly why he hadn't killed her in the first place.

"You wouldn't be in this situation if you had." She was prying. Okay, more than prying. She was irritating him too, but that was fine by her. As far as she was concerned, she had every right to poke at Draco. She'd already found some of his well-kept secrets, anyhow. What more was there?

Draco had just been thinking that as she commented. He turned slightly, his shoulders shifting as he turned his head to look at her. His eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth in a way that would've made him laugh any other time. "Don't tempt me to fix that problem, Granger." He wasn't really on a short fuse that day. He admittedly hadn't gotten much sleep, and he was a little hungry, but it was all Granger's fault. She brought out the worst in him.

Hermione snorted and shifted a bit, pulling away instinctively when his shoulder moved against her chest. "They'd be crawling all over you before you could get away, twit." She didn't think he was stupid enough to kill her here, and she was betting a lot on it. She knew how angry he could get. And she knew… he wouldn't stall with her like he had before.

Her hope hadn't faded completely, though it was sinking down the drain steadily. "How long will this take?" She knew she wounded pert – but that was okay with her. Draco wasn't someone she had to concern herself with. He wasn't worth worrying about, she reassured herself as she watched his shoulders tense as he rounded on her. The seams had finally split.

"Granger, I have no patience for you right now. It will take as long as it takes, so shut your trap and get comfortable." The irony in his tone didn't escape her. He obviously wasn't very comfortable. It was obvious by the way he kept twitching and glaring at her.

Hermione scowled at him before shrugging. Fine, she thought. If that was how it was going to be.

Though it wasn't something shed thought possible, Hermione did manage to doze lightly. She did find that she tended to lean a little too close to Draco, though each time she did, he growled a bit and shoved at her. Her sleepy bits helped pass the time (which crept by oh-so-slowly) while her time awake was spent mainly scrutinizing Draco. It'd been a long time since she'd actually looked at him for a prolonged amount of time. At the ball, she'd been mostly busy with other things.

She could tell he was clenching his jaw. His eyes were narrowed and he was breathing sharply through his too slim nose. Hermione soon admitted that she was simply searching for flaws. But she was content with that. It gave her something to do. "Do you love him?" The question had been floating around in her head for some time, and had apparently decided to jump out after a short lull in her thought process.

Draco turned to her, acknowledging her for the first time since he'd shoved her. His eyes studied her for a moment before he shrugged, his intense gaze moving from her. "Maybe."

Hermione frowned, her forehead creasing as she quickly thought it over. "You don't know?" At least she knew she didn't love Remus that way. How could he not know?

Draco didn't reply to her. He was almost sure he did actually love Blaise. But he wasn't about to admit it to Granger. That wasn't something he needed to worry about. Hermione let him be and instead drifted off to a light sleep. She was rudely awakened by Draco's elbow. "C'mon." His voice was quiet. He was walking briskly, and surprisingly quietly, towards what appeared to be a fountain. Hermione glanced around nervously before running a little to catch up to him. Draco was muttering and fiddling with the loose bricks around the edge. Suddenly, he pulled a wand from his robe. He tossed it at her, not even looking from his work. Hermione barely caught it, but realized as soon as she had it that it was her own. Feeling a little safer now, she studied Draco.

He had rearranged the bricks and was admiring his handiwork with a faint smirk. "Thought they could trick me, huh?" He snorted under his breath and looked back to Hermione. "Okay Granger, here's the deal: I come with you." He raised an eyebrow at her, looking oh-so imperious.

Hermione would've laughed if she hadn't been so scared. Draco had to know they'd be monitoring the portkeys. "No." She stared at him blankly, looking more than a little baffled.

"Why not?" Draco looked almost… pouty. But in a full-grown man way and not a three-year-old way.

"They'd kill you." She was still having a hard time registering it all, as though the conversation wasn't really happening and she was just imagining it all. Merlin, how she hoped. But to no avail so far.

"That's okay," Draco replied rather recklessly. He'd take his chances. At this point in time either side was going to do the same to him. So what difference did it make who did it?

Hermione didn't like his eyes. They were not as much typical Draco as the rest of him. She'd seen fear and worry flicker in them. Doubt and pain, regret; all these emotions were not Draco in the least. Yet she recognized them well enough. She bit her lip. "If you expect to get something for saving me.." her words trailed off as Draco openly snorted at her.

"Granger, I'm coming. I'll take my chances." Chances. Draco had to wonder if this was one worth taking. He'd lose all respect in Voldemort's circle. And Blaise. His mother, too. Even if she was an annoying bitch, he did worry for her.

The good thing would be the lack of his father. IN a flash of realization, he knew he would be the last of the Malfoy line, so highly prized and valued. Almost feeling guilty, he reached out his hand touching the portkey.

Hermione watched him reluctantly. The sadness was flowing off him. She didn't know what to do. Finally, she reached out and touched the brick. "Be ready to run. Fast." His voice had barely faded before she felt a sharp jerk at her navel. The spinning, sickening sensation took away her breath and the pavement suddenly under her was a comfort. She only vaguely registered Draco's hand on hers, barely felt the smooth warmth. Her legs decided to work after a while, obediently chasing after Draco. His dark robe flared out behind him. The cold air assaulted her senses. She barely knew where she was and couldn't concentrate with her breath tearing through her lungs.

Draco didn't know where he was going. He knew only that it was around here. This was where they'd captured her, and not far was where he'd confronted her. Why did it all seem so long ago? He was almost panicking. They'd be coming at any moment. He turned to her and grabbed her shoulders. He was breathing heavily and she was panting as well. "You need to lead."

Her breath caught in her throat. Perhaps Draco knew how utterly stunning he was. His eyes, pale and stormy, laced with fear. Strands of his flaxen hair splayed around his face, carelessly framing it as though in a portrait. "Oh." Her soft exhale brought her back to reality. She pulled away from him abruptly and turned, walking as she gained a sense of direction. Finally, having her bearings underway, she took off. Draco was after her, following her closely. He didn't want to get lost… and caught.

He didn't even see the house until they were right on top of it. Hermione was muttering under her breath as she jumped up the stairs. Draco followed, looking over his shoulder as he tumbled in the door with her. He landed somewhat awkwardly on her as the door slammed shut.

Safe. The only thought Hermione could clearly form. Her eyes slipped closed for a second. Safe. The fact that Draco was laying on her very heavily and breathing loudly didn't bother her in the least. In fact, it almost felt kind of… nice?

"Malfoy!?" Ginny's shriek shook the house, or so Hermione thought. Hermione could hear others coming to see what the commotion was all about. Draco looked up at Ginny, baring his teeth in an almost threatening way. "Weasley."

At this point, Hermione couldn't help it. She cried. It was almost just like back at Hogwarts. Almost. The stress and sleep deprivation were getting to her. It didn't take long for a couple wands to be pointed at Draco. Oliver was holding Ginny at her waist, standing in front of her protectively. His wand, along with Arthur and Neville's, were all pointed angrily at him. Arthur was in his night-time usual: p.j. bottoms and an undone button shirt he'd just thrown on when the commotion started up. Hermione tried to talk through the tears, but all she could do was cry.

Draco shifted off of Hermione, standing slowly with his hands raised as he watched. In an attempt to get them to refrain from killing him, Draco pulled a Blaise and made a completely out there comment… "So… anyone have something to eat?" He didn't pull it off nearly as well as Blaise, and was, as a result, cursed numerous times.

* * *

A/N: So, here's chapter six. Seven is being worked on. People should all be happy to know that my computer is back and feeling quite better now, so I will start working on these things, now. Hope this chapters okay -- I actually wrote it out on paper and then typed it up, so if there's a few huge mistakes, I'm sorry. Enjoy! 


	7. Too good at goodbyes

Chapter Seven – Too Good at Goodbyes

Hermione finally stirred. Mick was shoving his cold wet nose under her chin in greeting. She sighed slowly and reached out to pet him a little. His tail teased at her fingertips before he curled up beside her.

What a night, she thought to herself. The clock read 4 PM. She sighed again. Remus was with the other men. They were having a go at Draco. Hermione almost pitied Malfoy. But she'd warned him what would happen. She didn't need to feel sorry for him.

She dressed slowly. She'd told them what had happened in one tired burst of energy before falling asleep in Remus' lap. In Draco's defense, her torn shirt and somewhat roughed appearance hadn't helped her story at all.

She snagged two cups of tea from the kitchen and made her way cautiously to the abandoned area of the house. It wasn't nearly as empty now. When Hermione came upon the room, she found Remus on watch. He smiled wearily at her. She silently handed him a tea cup before slipping into the room. Quietly, she shut the door behind her.

Something in her broke a little after seeing what state Draco was in. What had it come to, for her friends to be capable of this? Of such anger and blind hate? Merlin, she hated the world.

Draco was in a corner of the room. He was crunched over into a tight ball. He was lacking his robe and shirt. Bruises littered his torso. Some old, some new. Hermione cringed and closed her eyes. This was just a little too surreal for her. Finally, she started towards him, her voice cracking a little. "Malfoy."

He turned to look at her. His lip was bleeding a little and he had a few other cuts and minor bruises. "I don't need your pity, Granger. It… was my choice." He looked away from her. He wouldn't admit that he missed Blaise. Wouldn't admit that he was cold and tired and hungry. Or that it hurt worse than his father ever had. And he wasn't sure why.

Hermione watched him but didn't comment on anything. Silently, she passed the cup of tea to him. Draco stared at it for a moment before he finally took it. He cradled it in the palms of his hands gently. "You and Lupin are sleeping together." He paused and sipped at the tea. Earl grey with lemon. Lovely, he thought, and relaxed into the wall a bit more, though moving at all hurt him more than he wanted to admit. "Funny. I didn't pin him as the type to play replacement." Sure, Granger and Potter might've thought they'd been subtle about it all – but it just wasn't so.

Hermione frowned. She didn't mind him knowing. Usually she'd take more offense to it. But the way his voice sounded made her reluctant to react.

Draco continued, listless as he sipped the tea. "He's convinced I raped you." Draco gave a bitter laugh that turned into a wheeze as he curled forwards over his knees. "Never had the stomach for it, anyhow."

Hermione observed him for a second before she sat, crossing her legs. "Why are you here, Malfoy?" It had been bothering her for a while. Why would he give up all that prestige and power to willingly submit himself to this? He was lucky they hadn't killed him on sight.

"Curiosity killed the cat, yes?" He was shivering a little still, but the tea had helped.

Hermione felt a sinking feeling in the bottom of her stomach. "You're gonna die for this. And you know it."

Draco looked at her for a moment. He seemed to be thinking. His reply was matter-of-fact and calm. "We all die, Granger. By you or my father – it doesn't change the outcome. I'm not afraid of death." He looked at her quietly. "And this way, the cat ends up knowing."

This was a side of Draco that Hermione had never seen. The broken, beaten… bitter side. She'd walked into death a few times and escaped. But this seemed so hopeless. "What are you so curious about?" What she was really asking was: what's so intriguing that he'd die for it?

He finished his tea and set the cup down gently. "You, Granger." He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. "I should rest. Lupin dearest promised another round today." His whole body ached. Neville was a vicious little bastard, as he'd found out.

Hermione didn't know what to say. Instead of saying something, she let the healer instinct in her take over. She stood and left quietly, the cup hanging from her finger loosely. She cast a glance at Remus. It was as if she didn't really know him after all. She broke the locked stare and went off to gather her medical supplies.

When she returned, Draco appeared to be sleeping. Slowly, she set out her things. "Malfoy." Her voice was low and firm. He cooperated, and Hermione soon had his skin looking less like a patchwork quilt, and more like a human. As she brushed the wet cloth over his lips, she suddenly found herself gazing in a questioning fashion.

"I know I'm pretty Granger, but I think Lupin-dear wouldn't bee too pleased if you started kissing me." He knew that look. Blaise had mimicked it often before he'd finally done it. Wimp. Somehow, the thought of kissing Granger intrigued him, at least a little. The questions and images that had been though of with Blaise surfaced yet again. Would she like it? He had to admit he was more than curious to know.

Hermione jumped back as though someone had slapped her. She knew what he could do with those lips. She knew. And she wanted it. It almost didn't matter if it was Malfoy. She wanted passion. But, it was still Malfoy. She could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks as she spread the blanket she'd brought for him. "Good luck," was all she murmured before escaping the room.

* * *

Hermione threw herself into her studies and work as a result. Her life seemed broken and twisted with pieces of the puzzle missing. She felt exhausted – sleep never helped any. Most of all, she felt so hopeless. And she didn't understand Malfoy at all. She'd known that look – of someone or something about to die. If he knew, why did he come? Would his father have really killed him? She knew Lucius to be competitive, but never to betray his own kin. That was perhaps the one thing that family had ever been loyal to.

Maybe he was just as desperate as she was for release. He'd seemed to have come to terms with it all, though she couldn't fathom how. Was he running from Blaise? Was that what this was all about? Maybe he was in love with Blaise. Hermione watched the fire in quiet contemplation. She'd never thought Draco would be the type to fall in love with anyone other than himself. But the memories of Draco and Blaise only reinforced that train of thought. Perhaps Draco did love him. She didn't like how coming to that conclusion made her feel uneasy. What did it matter to her if Draco loved somebody? It didn't matter. It doesn't, she told herself again, frowning at the fire.

"Hi." Remus' tired voice shook her from her thoughts. She looked up at him, the feeling of not really knowing him resonating in her. Part of her didn't want to admit that he was capable of something like that. But at the same time, she didn't feel she had any say in the game of morals. War did terrible things to people.

She struggled to find words. "Hi." Her voice felt dead and her mouth felt betrayed. Her throat was dry and her mind was full. She just didn't know what to do.

"You coming to bed?" Draco's appearance had caused a somewhat major shift in Remus' personality. He seemed more distant, demanding – less needy, but more… she didn't know how to word it. Remus had never once claimed her in any way. He was much too passive for that. But not now. Now… he almost scared her.

"Oh, soon. I just need to go check on Malfoy first." She smiled weakly as she stood.

Remus frowned a little before nodding. "Okay, hon. I'll see you in bed." It wasn't his usual wary question. It was almost an order – a demand.

Hermione bit her lip as she walked to her study. She picked out the salves and potions she'd need and walked in solemn silence to Malfoy's area. She was glad she'd packed the food ahead of time. Arthur was on watch. He gave her a smile, though it was tired. "We got some information from him. It'll be discussed tomorrow in the meeting." He yawned and stretched. "Mmm. Thirty more and I'm off for the night." He flashed Hermione a smile and slouched into his char.

She gave him a small smile in return before she opened the door.

The first thing she did was assess him from afar. Her critical eye found nothing terribly wrong with him, but she did spot some new gashes.

"I don't know anything else that would be of interest to you." Draco was curled into a ball. He was speaking into his knees, his back was arched.

Hermione sighed and kneeled beside him with her box of medical supplies. "Well, I was hoping you'd explain things to me a bit more. Like why you're here." She brought out a rag with some antiseptic on it and brushed it over a scratch on his back. Draco flinched and a small hiss of air escaped between his clenched teeth.

"Explaining takes all the fun away." Draco replied lightly after she'd finished cleaning out his scratches. He hated this. He didn't like depending on someone else for his needs. It wasn't something Draco was used to in the least. It made him nervous and antsy. What if she stopped? What if she just decided to never come back? Starving didn't seem like the best of ways to go, but at this point in time, Draco knew it was a reality he was going to have to face eventually. Merlin, he'd kill for a shower.

"Seriously. Just what is it that you're so curious about? I promise my sex life isn't nearly as interesting as you hope." Hermione removed the salve from her bag and spread some gently over the wounds with a fingertip.

Draco snorted and relaxed a little as the salve cooled the burning sensation. "Granger, you having a sex life at all is interesting enough." He paused and shifted a bit, looking up to her. "I hear Weasley is procreating like a rabbit." At Hermione's baffled look – how did he know? – he explained with a patented Malfoy smirk, "Weasley and Wood were discussing it after a little roughing up." He continued to smirk at her and moved a bit, though his smirk soon turned into a grimace of pain. At her silence, Draco finally asked, "Do you have anything to eat? I'm starved."

Hermione stared at him for a few seconds before nodding and pulling a bundle of food from her box. She laid it out for him and reclined on her heels to watch him eat. She quickly noticed a scratch on his cheek and pulled the rag out again. He'd taken a bite of a plum and was chewing when she grabbed his chin and turned his face to hers. His eyes were open and he was watching her closely as she wiped at it. His eyelids slipped closed for a moment as he cringed at the sting.

Hermione couldn't figure out why she was blushing. Did he have to look at her like that? His stormy eyes were watching her too intently as she applied more salve. "Granger, I do believe you think I'm cute." He gave a little smirk as she pulled back, disgust hinting in her voice.

"Malfoy, you may be 'cute' but you're a horrible, shallow, vain killer and you deserve all you gt." She felt bad after she said it. But he was pushing her. She stood up, glaring at him as she picked up her medical supplies. "I'll check in tomorrow. Remus is expecting me." She moved stiffly to the door, but not quick enough to miss his reply.

"But I'm better in bed than he is. And more fun."

Hermione slammed the door behind her, blocking out Draco's chuckling. He'd actually sounded serious. The gall of that-that thing! Pompous prick.

But, as she slipped into bed and felt Remus' hand on her thigh, she couldn't help but admit… he was probably right.

The meeting the next morning was dreary and lonely. Cho was in bed with the flu and Neville was on Malfoy duty. Dreary, Hermione thought to herself again as she took her usual seat. Remus was standing, as he always did for meetings. His hand was resting on her shoulder. She'd pretended to be too sleepy for sex the previous night, but she knew in her gut that wasn't the story in the least. The guilty feeling hovering over her made her grumpy. Remus hadn't commented on it, but he did watch her a little too closely for her liking. She'd just finished a piece of toast as the meeting commenced. Arthur was leading. He looks beat, Hermione thought. But they all did, even if they did their best to hide it. Sometimes you just couldn't hide the type of tired that sank into your bones, body, heart, and soul

Arthur cleared his throat and glanced around the table. "Voldemort's power is failing." The group around the table became immediately silent. Arthur paused, composing himself as he looked out over the faces of those he knew and loved. "It's only a matter of time. Already we've noticed. He's made fewere appearances and he's gotten sloppy." Sure, the entire Order had noticed those things. But they'd never assumed it'd be such a good omen for them. Arthur continued, casting a strange look to Hermione, "The prisoner has explained it as a gradual weakening of the soul. The mind and body may want to live, but the tank is running dry."

Moody interrupted abruptly – "What if that's just what they want us to think?" He thumped his fist on the table, his one good eye staring at Arthur. The other was twisting wildly, gauging the other's reactions.

Ginny finally spoke up, her voice soft and her eyes downcast. She was rubbing her small pooch of a stomach. "He has a point, da." She didn't want to get her hopes up… even with Voldemort out of the way, his followers were a formidable army. She wanted the best for her baby but she wasn't going to pretend things were getting better just to fool herself.

Hermione finally decided to say something. Her voice was very quiet. "He came here planning to die. He has nothing to lose." She still couldn't get over the fact that he seemed so okay with it. She'd almost checked on him earlier, but Remus had seemed intent on distracting her with things that didn't really matter.

She was still taking her potions every evening. She was well aware that her and Remus had planned on having children. But that had been before Malfoy had appeared on the scene. If she had ever been in love with Remus, it had died slowly but surely over the past few days. She didn't know what had inspired such a change, but she still felt like she didn't know the man who was looking at her with those soft eyes that burned.

* * *

The meeting continued on, each side arguing. Wood finally brought up the proposition to just wait it out for a while and see how things went. Voldemort dying would be a major accomplishment and might give them the edge they needed to take matters back into their own hands. The rest of the group agreed, and Hermione made her way off quietly to her study. When she arrived, she found that Ginny was already there, sitting on a chair with Mick purring contently. She could see the cat's paws flexing as he dreamed. _At least one of us is sleeping well,_ she thought to herself as she flopped into her chair. Hermione looked up to Ginny, her eyes questioning and tired as she waited. Ginny was never one to beat around the bush.

"What's wrong?" Hermione had often forgotten how good Ginny was at watching people. She could generally tell when there was something wrong, even if the person thought they were hiding it well.

"Nothing," Hermione lied.

Ginny glared at her, gaining a look that her mother would've most likely given to Fred and George. The thought of Molly stung a little, but it also reassured Hermione she was fighting a losing battle with Ginny. "I'm not stupid, Hermione. Now tell me. Is it Malfoy?"

Hermione winced a little at her mentioning Draco. It wasn't him… exactly. She didn't know herself what it was. "Remus is acting strange." She decided to mention another problem. This one Ginny wouldn't flip out about, wouldn't call her insane for, and wouldn't beat Malfoy for.

Ginny relaxed into the chair and started petting Mick. It was as though Hermione's problem was nothing at all and she knew just how to fix it. "He's worried about you." She scratched at Mick's chin and cooed at him a bit. "I heard that you and him were… thinking about, you know." Ginny blushed a little. No matter how head-strong and determined she was, she still had problems admitting that other people had sex.

"Children, yeah. We were." She didn't want to talk about that right now. That was something that still bothered her. Every night when she took her potions, she felt like she was betraying Remus and everyone in the Order. It wasn't that she didn't want children, and having them with Remus wasn't a terrible thing. But something in her chilled at the thought. By no means was Hermione a wimp. She knew childbirth could be brutal, but she was okay with that.

"Oh." Ginny rested her hand on Mick, who was purring rather loudly now, "I'm sorry." She didn't know what to say. Her baby had been an accident. A welcome accident, but an accident none-the-less.

"It's okay." Trying to make up a feasible lie, she continued on, "I should get you through your baby times first, and then think about mine." She gave a small smile, "I don't mind having the younger one."

Ginny smiled and rubbed her stomach gently. "Do you think Malfoy is telling the truth?"

Hermione shrugged a little. "There's not many who could defy a truth potion like that. We just have to hope he's well-informed." At Ginny's look, she made an exasperated sound. "Yes, yes I do think he's telling the truth. He has nothing to lose." She knew that best of all.

Ginny smiled again and started hummed gently. "Good." Her voice was so full of hope that Hermione had to cringe.

* * *

Draco shifted again. He was not as cold as he had been. He'd desecrated the food that Hermione had left, and his body felt a little revived after it all.

He still didn't know what to think of his situation. Part of him was amused by it all, in a sick, sadistic, Slytherin way. But the other part was baffled. Why had he come here? He'd had it pretty bloody good back in his own world, away from these buggers and their damn questions. A sudden surge of distaste for Granger arose, though as he snuggled into the blanket she'd brought him, he felt it fade and simmer down to nothing. He hated how she confused him so. One minute she hated him, put up with him, liked him? He just couldn't seem to tell with her, and it made him squirm down to his very toes. Not that he'd ever let her see it, of course. And Lupin, of course. Draco hated that he'd somehow wronged the man and as a result, earned extra cruelty points from him. He hadn't even thought of touching Granger. Well, at least not seriously. Okay, maybe a little bit, but he was hardly admitting it to himself, so he wasn't about to feel guilty for it.

Draco had begun to look forward to her visits each day. He thought she did too, a little, if only to escape those others. One night she'd come in and just sat in the opposite corner of him and cried. He didn't bother asking her why, and just let her. Hermione had thought he'd been mature, but he'd thought he'd mostly been sane. He didn't want to piss off the woman with the wand. And the food. And all the other things she did for him.

The others had mostly forgotten about him. Lupin would occasionally visit to pester him, but other than that, life was quiet for Draco. He missed Blaise terribly, and the only human contact he had at all was when Hermione was cleaning him up. Which wasn't really in the vein of what he wanted. But it would have to do, since he didn't really have a choice in the matter after all.

She came to feed him one evening, and he felt things were different. Something about her leaked barely suppressed anxiety. He just couldn't figure it out. She set his food down in a hurry and left without saying much of anything. Usually she took the time to lecture him a little, ask him a couple questions – do something that would make it seem like she was putting effort into the whole thing. Why she needed to feel that way, he didn't know, but Draco supposed it was just how she was – Granger had to feel like she was doing something or she felt useless.

He munched on the food she'd brought in silence, contemplating the things that could have happened. He thought it was unlikely anything big would've happened with Voldemort. He was still a little too powerful for them, and not to mention the hordes of willing wizards who stood around him.

Draco was left wondering for a couple more hours before Hermione finally dragged herself in. Her hair was wet from a shower and the bags under her eyes were larger than usual. He'd been dozing, but not fully asleep. Running a hand through his hair, he watched her calmly. His bangs had grown out in the month or so he'd been held captive. He terribly wished they'd get longer so he could push them behind his ears, or that somehow he would be able to cut them. Not that he really thought they'd give him that sort of luxury any time soon. Funny how he'd started to think of haircuts as a luxury. Amazing what certain situations could do to you after time.

Hermione flopped down into her usual corner, far enough away from him to not be tensed up, but close enough so that she could check him for any symptoms or pains. She brushed the hair from her eyes and looked at him, her lips pursed a little. She didn't know why she came here to escape. Maybe it was because while she didn't really like Malfoy, he was at least another person. And he judged her from a completely different standpoint than any other person she was living with. She did seem to crave his attention, as though it would somehow make things easier if she learned to put up with him and his antics.

Finally, she started talking. She hadn't planned on telling him anything at first, but it just came spilling out. "Ginny went into premature labor, probably from stress, and the pregnancy has been hard on her, and I begged her to stay in bed, and so did Oliver, but she just wouldn't, and I was trying to help her get calm and try to keep the baby from coming, and then Hagrid of all people showed up, and he's been gone for months, or at least that's what it feels like and he's gonna tell us what he's done tomorrow in the meeting, but everyone's asking him questions and I just didn't know what to do, and I didn't know how to do it so I came here." It all tumbled out in a large gasping breath and her cheeks were red from the stress of trying to get it all out in some sort of coherent form. She'd been worried about Ginny for days. Her and Oliver had been trying to keep her in bed, but with all of the other things to distract them, they just forgot to try and get her to relax and let some of the stress go.

Draco watched her calmly and listened, deciding to actually absorb what she was rambling on about. He figured he might as well take it all in considering it would encourage her to come back. Draco didn't want to do anything that would scare off his only company. He wondered if this was what it was like to die alone. Who would ever want this? He couldn't imagine. Shuddering a bit, he realized that Hermione had been silent for a few seconds and that it was getting steadily more awkward.

"Sounds exciting." He hadn't meant to sound insensitive, it was more that he didn't know how to sound sensitive. Not to Granger, anyhow. Not after her pompous boyfriend had beaten the shit out of him more than a couple times.

"A little too exciting." Either she hadn't caught the lilt in his voice, or she was choosing to ignore it. Draco wasn't sure. He wasn't sure about her most of the time. It made him feel uneasy and unprepared.

"Better than nothing." He hadn't realized how bitter he'd felt about the whole thing until he heard his tone with those words. He looked down, curling his hands into the blanket and pulling it up to his chin. He didn't want her to see the rather large bruise on his side. He didn't think it was a cracked rib, but the bruise was pretty ugly. She'd gotten worked up about it last time, and Remus had brought hellfire down on him for it.

Hermione had been feeling horrible for Draco lately. She hadn't meant to feel sorry for him. After a month of coming to see him, she'd seen the fire die down. She'd seen the fight leave him. It wasn't a bad thing, she had tried to reassure herself. It just meant he'd be easier to take care of, and easier to get information out of, which was really the only reason he was still alive. At least, that's what Hermione told herself. "I'm sorry." Draco looked up sharply at her comment. It seemed she had almost meant it. But she couldn't have. Must be another trick, he thought to himself as he looked away. Draco was tired of tricks. "Really."

Draco remained silent, waiting for her to change the subject like she always did. Hermione finally gave in, and continued on, filling in details from her earlier spilling of words. "I managed to stop Ginny's baby. But she's still fragile. The good thing is that it scared her good. She's only 6 and a half months. Not enough for a healthy baby."

Draco had to snort at her last comment. "Granger, Weasley babies are the toughest out there. They're like roaches. Duct tape and roaches will outlive man, Granger. I'd bet money on it." Not that he had any. He was sure that whatever was left of his father's inheritance was going to be funneled to unknown sources bent solely on making Draco's life hell.

Hermione glared at him. It was reassuring, in an insulting sort of way. She'd become mostly numb to Draco's comments about Ginny's family. It was only when he brought up Ron that she flew off the handle and seriously contemplated letting Remus off him. "Can't you be civil for once?"

Draco looked at her blankly for a second before he started laughing at her. Quietly at first, then louder. "Granger, you're hilarious." After his chuckling had died down, he glanced up at her to see her bright red face. "Really. I've been civil this entire time. I haven't tried to rape you in my spare time, now that I've got so much of it, I haven't tried to break out, I haven't even called you mudblood in weeks." He laughed a little under his breath and shook his head, "Really, Granger. What did you expect?" His eyes flashing a little, pale flecks of blue sparkling in the blue, he moved slowly and lithe like towards her. He was crawling on the floor.

Hermione's eyes widened. He was gaunt. She could see his ribs peeking out of his chest and bruises in all stages of healing littered his skin. The yellow and purple and blue and red mix made her want to hurl. But worse than that was that he was moving towards her – and she wasn't moving away. Still in her corner, she watched as he moved until he was right in front of her. This was the Draco she'd known. The predator – the one that was in control. He was more himself in that moment than he'd been in the last month.

"Did you expect this?" He paused and reached out a hand to brush his fingers against her cheek. His hands were so cold Hermione's mouth parted a little, her eyes closing for a split second. "Hm, little Granger? Is this what you expected?"

She didn't know what to say, what to do, what to think. Goosebumps were raising along her arms as his fingers touched at her face, her neck, her hair. "Is this what you want?" He was cooing softly, his voice like sugar melting into tea. How many times had she laid in bed wondering what he felt like? Her cheeks were red – she knew that. She squirmed, trying to move into the wall more, trying to buy herself time. Part of her was yelling at her to push him already, and the other was urging her on. What did she have to lose?

When she opened her eyes, his face was so close to hers she gasped. Her eyebrows raised in her surprise and the only thing that stifled her squeal of fright was Draco's mouth. His lips were soft, except for the scar that hadn't quite healed on his lower lip. His lips were cold, his hand was cold – Draco was cold. As if finally realizing what was happening, she pushed her hand out instinctively, hitting his chest.

She didn't know how he managed to do it, but he still looked dignified. He was sprawled on his back, having landed a little hard from his tumble with gravity. He was looking at her with those eyes from under his lashes. His jeans were so loose on his hips that they'd fell and she could see plenty of skin and boxer. She bit her lip. He was as thin as a stick, he was pale, he looked sickly… yet she couldn't quite convince herself of it. She swallowed hard and stood up, pushing the extra food she'd brought towards him. Hermione left without saying anything – what was there to say? She didn't know why she'd let him do it. She didn't know why she didn't feel… bad for letting it happen. She bit on a piece of her hair as she stared in the bathroom mirror. She was leaning over the sink, staring into her own eyes.

Maybe if I stare long enough, I'll find something. It wasn't really a rational thought. But she could still feel his hand on her face, his fingers brushing against her, his palm cupping her jaw. She closed her eyes, slouching over the sink and sighing heavily. The feeling of his lips – his hand – his cold finger tracing her jaw line slowly, enticingly. She didn't know what to think of it all.

Hermione finally made it to the bed. She felt exhausted. Her bones were seeped with the feeling. Ginny's pregnancy woes had her stressed as it was, but Malfoy had tipped her over the edge almost. She was lying on her back. She much preferred to sleep on her side, curled into a ball of her side of the bed, but she felt like even making just the little effort it would take to roll over wasn't worth it. She bit her lip, her fingertips lightly tracing the sheets. Why couldn't she sleep? It wasn't as if she'd done something wrong. It'd been all Malfoy. He'd started it. And she had stopped him… after a while. Okay, so maybe it was a little her fault.

In a sudden fit of frustration, she managed to roll onto her side. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her body arched with the blankets tucked about her in disarray from her sudden tossing. She didn't know what to do think. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face. Saw his eyes, looking at her with that look… like he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. She couldn't trust him! He was still the enemy, even if he was locked in the room with nothing but his dignity left. It didn't give her an excuse to think of him as anything that he wasn't. And he most definitely was not someone she could think of as anything more than a prisoner. She closed her eyes again, the picture of him lying sprawled burned into her eyelids. She wasn't sure why she'd started crying. She just knew that there was suddenly the wetness of tears sliding down her cheeks, tracing over where Draco's fingers had lingered.

The stress was too much. And she broke. And oh it felt wonderful. Hermione wasn't denying it. Release was something she only dreamed of these days. With her state of mind already as muddled as it was, it didn't take much for her thoughts to linger back to Harry and Ron, as they often did.

Sleep came finally. Her thoughts remained on Harry, mainly, and what he'd think, what he'd do. She felt Remus crawl in late in the night. Felt his hand on he back, felt him kiss her hair gently and lay down to sleep. He was so different. She was so different. All because of Malfoy. She didn't know whether to hate him for it or not. She didn't think it was fair, but the urge to blame him for all her problems was rather overwhelming at the time. She slept brokenly, half awake, half asleep, dreaming. She'd face it tomorrow. Things would be better, after she slept.

A/N: There you go. Hope it's at least a little decent. I like it. Eight is in the works. Take care all. Sorry it took so long; blame the snowstorm that randomly hit Oregon. Oh no! Stalkers!  



	8. Oh you could kiss me

Chapter Eight -- Oh you could kiss me and I'd go right back

"I'm not avoiding him." The denial in her voice was obvious even to her. Hermione had never been very good at the whole lying thing. She rolled her eyes and huffed at Remus as he stood in unison with her, following so he could pursue the conversation.

"You haven't taken him food in weeks. What did he do?" Remus wasn't normally the suspicious type, but this was just terribly out of character for her. Hermione never backed down from anyone or anything. She was generally much too stubborn for something like that.

"Nothing." Hermione's voice felt deader than usual. It'd been two weeks since she'd seen Malfoy. Two weeks and three days, she corrected herself. And she felt deader for it. Not that she'd admitted it to anyone, but she hadn't bet on Remus picking up on it so quickly. She shook the hair from her face and picked up the scissors from her dresser. "Would you trim my hair for me? Please?" The please was more needy sounding than usual. It was a plead to drop the conversation and to get rid of her split ends. Her hair was getting frizzy

Remus sighed and took the scissors from her hand and grabbed the comb. He combed out her hair and silently ran his fingers through it. He liked her hair. Even if it was a little… untamable. He wasn't sure how to word it. "How much?"

Hermione thought about it, then shrugged lightly, "An inch or so." She closed her eyes and listened to the snipping sounds coming from behind her. She'd never liked having her hair cut, and she wasn't really sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the horrible hair problems she'd had throughout her lifetime. Whatever it was, she was happy when Remus set the scissors back on the dresser and continued to brush her hair.

"You're okay, right?" His arms slipped around her. Hermione stiffened a little before relaxing. It was just Remus.

And yet she still felt like she didn't know him at all. She swallowed and slipped out of his embrace. She was going to take Draco his food today if it killed her. Which it probably… hopefully, wouldn't. She kissed Remus' cheek, the whole time feeling like she was betraying him, and left the room.

As she picked out what to take him, taking particular care to gather some fruits since she knew he liked them, she thought about what was going to happen. She somehow thought it would be rather anti-climatic and dull. Draco would ignore her. She'd try to talk to him. He'd ignore her some more. She'd get frustrated. She'd yell and get huffy at him. He'd laugh and mock her in disdain. She'd leave the food and exit stomping mad.

Well. She could hope.

She grabbed the tray of food and snagged a pair of scissors. Her own haircut had reminded her of Malfoy's hair. She'd wanted to do it last time, but after the kiss… well, it hadn't been an option at the time.

They didn't bother to leave someone guarding him now. It was as if most of the Order had forgotten about the lonely man they had stashed away in the far side of the building. Arthur and Oliver had been bringing food for him since she'd stopped doing it. Hermione was nervous. Much as she'd felt the first time she'd kissed Harry. But worse.

She didn't knock. She wanted him to be as surprised and caught unaware as possible. When she opened the door, she found him in his usual corner. With that blanket she'd brought him forever ago. He didn't look up as she opened it. He didn't say anything. He didn't move. A momentary panic that he was dead caught her and squeezed the air out of her lungs. She rationalized about it for a moment before moving towards him cautiously after shutting the door.

Draco looked up then. He was surprised. Usually Wood or Weasley would just leave the food and run as quickly as possible before they had to actually act human, or sub-human, in Draco's opinion. When he saw Granger standing in front of him, he couldn't help but think it was a dream. His hair was grown out even more, enough to tuck behind his ears, and the back was long enough for a ponytail to be put up. He brushed the hair from his face. If Draco had at all been a person inclined to smile once in a while, this would've been the perfect time. Sadly, he was more the type to just stare. And study. And think. "Granger."

Hermione was surprised. She hadn't expected even that from him. She frowned a little and moved to him, setting the plate down in front of him. She was rewarded with a surprising grin of delight from Draco as he grabbed at the fruit. "Oranges, lovely." His pleasure was well worth the effort of coming up here. "Wood and Weasley seemed to think bread and some butter was well enough." He munched on the orange for a moment, pawing through the rest of the contents. Hermione, lulled into a more relaxing mood, sat in her usual corner, watching him as he ate. Draco didn't appear at all flustered by being watched, and instead consumed his food with his usual gusto.

He was still lacking his shirt, she noted disapprovingly. Hermione rummaged in her bag of things and finally found what she was looking for. Looking at him boldly – this was gonna hurt, she thought – she demanded, "Give me your pants."

Draco looked up at her from mid-bite, his back hunched over the food as if she'd take it away at any moment. The blank stare of confusion was rare and something Hermione could honestly say she'd never seen. After an exasperated sound, she waved her miniature sewing kit in front of him, and commented brusquely, "Do you want them to fit, or not?" She'd tried sewing pants with magic before, and she'd never gotten the hang of it. Though admittedly, fixing clothing wasn't nearly as in demand as killing people and maiming them was.

Draco swallowed and wiped his mouth off on his arm. He had a trickle of orange juice dribbling down his chin, and catching sight of it made Hermione bite her lip in curiosity. She didn't need to think things like that. It wasn't going to help either of them. He leaned back on the floor and easily pulled them off without having to undo his belt or button. Hermione scowled at the pants.

Silently, she started patching them up, teasing strands out to bind together with her needle. The pants were well-worn and had many holes in them. By the time she was done repairing the holes, Draco had finished eating. He was curled up under his blanket in the corner, his eyes drowsily watching her. For once, Draco was speechless. She disappeared for weeks after he kissed her, and then suddenly returned for no apparent reason. Not that he minded. But he still wasn't sure what to say to her. What if he said something wrong and she left again? She was the only person who ever talked to him or seemed to care.

When she'd finished the pants, she tossed them back to Draco. He put them on, pale eyes watching her though strands of flaxen hair. Curious. Hermione finally looked up at him, waving the pair of scissors at him as she raised her eyebrows. "Interested in a hair cut?"

The day just got better and better, Draco thought to himself. His pants weren't fitting terribly well, but they didn't slip off at every movement, and he no longer had gaping holes in them that let his precious heat escape.

Hermione brushed out his hair with her fingers at first. She was trembling a little, but she dismissed it. It was because she hadn't eaten anything yet, she told herself. That was the only reason. She sat cross-legged behind Draco as she pulled his hair straight out to cut it. "How short do you want it?"

Draco shrugged and replied in a bored tone of voice, "Whatever works."

Hermione finally decided to make it as short as it had been when he'd arrived. He'd looked… good with it that short. She cut it to around his ears, a little longer in the back. When it came time for his bangs, she prodded at him with the scissors. "Turn." Draco did as she said. He was facing her now. Hermione inhaled a little sharply and furrowed her eyebrows in an effort to keep her thoughts where they belonged. She brushed out his bangs a bit, her fingers slipping through his fine hair effortlessly. She cut them short, like he'd worn back in the day. She cut slow and sure, her fingers holding the hair taunt. She also made sure her eyes stayed on the scissors, and not on his eyes that were following her every movement.

When Hermione was done, she put the scissors down, and placed the hair she'd cut off in a pile on the platter she'd brought the food on. She admired her work a bit, turning him from side to side. She gave a cautious smile before looking down. "You cut your hair, too." Draco's voice was soft, much softer than it should've been. And lush. And deep. And so inviting. Was this a game to him? She couldn't help but wonder, sometimes.

"Remus did it for me." She instinctively reached up in a nervous action to pull at her hair, trying to straighten it out a bit.

"It looks good." Draco didn't move away from her. Instead he was moving closer. A game, no this wasn't a game for Draco. Stockholm's syndrome? Perhaps. But he wasn't falling all over Wood, no matter how pretty he batted his lashes.

Hermione could feel the blush creeping up her cheeks. This wasn't at all how she'd thought it'd go. In fact, it was going the way she'd hoped it wouldn't go. Well, the way most of her didn't want it to go. A small bit of her wasn't that angry at him for doing what he was. She bit her lip and moved back a little, making a huge effort of cleaning up the hair and putting the scissors and sewing kit back into her stuff.

Draco watched her. Finally, he commented quietly, "You're going to sleep with me."

Hermione's mouth flew open and her hand moved to cover it. How dare he! Her eyes were wide as she stared at him. She didn't admit to herself that she'd thought about it, that she'd wondered. That she sometimes wanted.

"You are. So get over it. Get off your high horse and sleep with me already." Draco was pushing her. But he needed something. A fight, a fuck, a look, a kiss… a reason.

"I have no intention of ever sleeping with you -- you, you filthy ferret!" Hermione's hand covered her mouth. She hadn't really meant to say it. But once it was out, it was out. She could've imagined the pain that flickered across his eyes.

"Then why'd you come back? One kiss not enough, Granger?" His voice was more taunting than he wanted it to be. But this was the first human contact, the first real emotion that he'd experienced in weeks. He felt something, for once. And he didn't want it to go away.

He was moving towards her again, just like last time. And Hermione was panicking. She didn't know what to do, how to deal with him. The anger that had prodded her just seconds ago was fading now, dimming into nothing. "Malfoy…" She didn't know what to say. She just didn't know. She didn't know what these feelings were, why she was having them, and for all people, Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, the man who couldn't kill her, but could've, the man who'd killed her friends, betrayed them… who had Dumbledore's blood on his hands.

It was her tone that stopped him. That strangled little pronunciation of his last name stopped him cold. What was he thinking, anyhow? This was Granger, Hermione Granger. Not just anyone, after all. He swallowed and froze in mid-crawl. He looked down and rolled back onto his heels. After a moment of locked eyes, he looked back down again and moved to his own corner, pulling the blanket over himself slowly. It was as if someone had just thrown water on a fire. He was gone.

Hermione bit her lip. She wanted him more, now. She couldn't have him. She wasn't supposed to. "Draco… Malfoy." It was perhaps the first time she could ever remember using his first name in a way that wasn't dead-set on killing him. Even when referring to him in not so polite conversation, he was always just Malfoy. People always knew. His first name felt funny in her mouth. Not bad, just funny.

Draco looked up at her, the blanket pulled around him. He looked so pathetic. Like a wet kitten in the storm. If he hadn't moved, she would've kissed him. But his eyes, the depth of emotion in them… it brought her back. This was Draco Malfoy. And just because he was their prisoner, didn't mean she had any lenience with him. None at all. She bit he lip and gathered up her stuff to leave.

Only once she was out the door did she start crying. She hated how he always made her cry. She was only a little ways down the hallway when it was too much to carry her things and walk. She slid down the wall, her back pressed against the dank, peeling wallpaper as she sniffled into her sleeve.

Why did she feel like she'd made such a mistake? She'd done the right thing. She'd shut him down and steered clear of more trouble. Hopefully he'd take it to heart and she wouldn't have to deal with him acting so, so strange all the time. She was just asking for trouble with this thing she had with Malfoy.

Wait, she scolded herself. It's not a thing. It's just a few idiot moments where her defense was down, probably from a lack of sleep, and she'd let things slip. He was just taking advantage of her – that's what Malfoy did best, Hermione reminded herself harshly. She bit her lip and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She wasn't sure how to go about making things right. She couldn't keep avoiding him – she'd been elected the unofficial caretaker, perhaps because she was the only one to be trusted not to kill him on a whim. But at the same time, she didn't think they would want her sleeping with him either.

And she had no intention of sleeping with him. It might make a quaint little thought for her when she was tired and listless but couldn't sleep, but it was nothing to be thought of seriously. She sniffled once more before she finally stood, gathering up the things she'd dropped in her effort to make herself feel better. Crying had helped, a little at least, she reassured herself. That was good.

* * *

The Order had a more formal dinner that evening. Nothing formal like the Malfoy's would hold, but something formal for them. Formal was an easy way of saying they were all there. It wasn't grab what you can and get back to work; it was an old-fashioned sit down meal. Hermione remembered having many of them with Ron and his family, back in the day. She smiled half-heartedly at the pasta on her plate, reminiscing. Sometimes, even with all the people gathered at the table, it still felt empty. There was no Ron to boast loudly, no Harry to undermine him, no Dumbledore to give a speech. Molly wasn't scolding the twins and McGonagall wasn't watching with eagle eyes. It felt empty.

Arthur tapped his glass (which already had a few chips in it regardless) with his spoon and stood, bowing to them all with a sloppy sort of grin on his face. He was a little under the table, Hermione realized. "A toast, to the loveliest daughters a man could have, and to Oliver and Remus, for treating them so well." The table's reaction to the toast was mixed. Moody and Fred hardly noticed. George laughed as Ginny blushed horribly with Oliver's arm slung about her shoulder casually. Hermione didn't look up from her plate, using her fork to push around the food as she took a small drink. She felt Remus touch her arm gently, but she didn't react. She wasn't sure how to react.

Her mind was stuck on Malfoy, and both Remus and Ginny had noticed. Neither had said anything because they hadn't been given a chance. Remus didn't think it would matter anyway – she didn't tell him much of what was going on anymore unless she had to. His soft touches and attempts to hug her usually failed to evoke even a faked smile these days. He wasn't sure what was wrong, but something was.

Ginny wasn't in much better shape. She knew there was something Hermione wasn't telling her, and while she thought they all had rights to a few secrets, she knew this one was eating Hermione from the inside out. Remus may've been part of it a while ago, but Hermione was pushing _him_ away, not the other way around, like it had seemed at first. She'd seem Remus and how he acted. He'd been trying – and each time he tried, he was shot down in flames.

Hermione glanced up, catching a wink from George (she thought it was George, anyhow) as he talked to Hagrid about his travels. Hagrid had seen a lot, done a lot. The giants were no longer as with Voldemort as they had been at one point. He'd finally swayed some of them to see some reason, and the offered help had been an incredible lifter for much of the group. Dumbledore had always wanted to have the giant's help. It had just never been feasible until now.

Her thoughts slipping past her like water, Hermione stood and excused herself. She was in the bathroom, leaning over the sink, when she heard the knock. "Hermione..?" Remus sounded worried even through the door. She leaned her forehead against the mirror and exhaled slowly.

"It's that time of month, Remus. I'm just cramping." She didn't mean to be short with him, but the sweet talking and comforting would've made him stay longer, and really, Hermione just thought she should be alone for a while. She'd looked in on Ginny, and found her to be well, and now she was free from obligations for the evening. She wanted nothing more than to curl up and think for a little while. It would make her feel better.

"Oh. Okay. If you need anything, just ask…" His voice trailed off as if he expected her to ask for something. When she didn't, he finally walked off, Hermione listening to the echo of his steps with her eyes closed. She didn't really feel like explaining what was going on in her head to anyone, not even Ginny, which was strange. The two girls used to share everything with each other. Though Hermione did end up telling her a lot of things about herself, what was going on, she somehow didn't think that Ginny would understand this. Somehow. She snorted lowly under her breath and cracked the door open. Something in her was flip-flopping over and over, making her feel nauseous. She wasn't sure what was causing it, but she had a pretty good idea. Malfoy always meant trouble, in one way or the other, she was finding. Just a blonde mess of trouble.

* * *

Hermione avoided Draco for the days to come. She tried to convince Remus that she was seeing him when she wasn't, but she knew it wasn't working. Remus seemed more distant all the while. She knew she was partly at fault for it – but she wasn't taking all the credit. Remus wasn't such a people pleaser these days. He'd slowly but surely started to define his own opinions – he'd started to do things for himself. He was eating a little more, which was good. But the distance was also that he'd just recently had his moon time and he was always a little touchy after it.

She was waiting for him to confront her, his tone moody and his eyes so accusing. But he hadn't. And it made her squirm, like waiting for the axe to fall. She sighed and tugged at the comb she was using to tame her hair. It was still damp from the shower and she liked how it looked. It looked better than it did any other time. But it wouldn't stay like it, she knew. Hermione let a soft sigh escape as she set the comb down and stood, stretching. In mid-stretch, she froze, her muscles freezing up. She could've sworn she heard the door. Finding it was only her over-active imagination as she looked over her shoulder, she sighed. She hated avoiding Remus like she was. She just didn't want all that she'd had with him to come to an end. Deep down, Hermione knew they weren't the same. That it wouldn't work. That she could paste on the smiles and hug him, but she didn't love him. Never had. She closed her eyes.

Maybe you could only fall in love with one person in a lifetime. She had always been much more optimistic about love, but this was pushing it. Remus had been a great man for her. She'd started walking, just walking, trying to sort her thoughts out. She felt like all her thoughts had been thrown on the floor and every time she picked one up, it dragged another ten up with it. She just couldn't focus. Had been a great man. She sighed and looked up, noticing where her walk had led her. Malfoy.

Why was his name so often on her mind? It didn't matter. He wasn't worth her worrying over like this. It was stressing her out enough as it was. Hey, it wasn't like she was involved in the war or anything like that.

They'd postponed Oliver going out to gather some intelligence because Ginny had flipped. Hermione had been afraid she'd go into labor again, which wouldn't be a good thing. She was still only seven months.

Hermione crossed her arms and stared intently at the door. So what happened if she did sleep with Malfoy? Then he told someone and everything went to hell. Remus hated her for it. Ginny wouldn't trust her. Maybe none of the Order would. She rubbed her forehead in a nervous way and shrugged. It's not like she was going to anyhow, right? This was Malfoy she was thinking about, not just anybody. He was the man who'd killed some of her friends, who helped the people who did it. And they enjoyed it.

Even though she'd gotten the distinct impression that Malfoy didn't enjoy killing people, she still found it hard to believe. He was a Malfoy at heart and all Malfoy's seemed to enjoy doing terrible things to people. Hermione pulled on her bottom lip with two fingers absently. Though admittedly, he'd never seemed to enjoy physically harming people. He'd always been the type to do something that played more with emotions. Suddenly, it struck her. This was a game for Malfoy. It had to be.

Righteous anger seeped into her. She couldn't believe how stupid she'd been. This was Malfoy, the same Malfoy he'd always been. It hadn't changed that he was stuck in four walls with nothing but dignity. That gave him all the more reason to do this – to pull her into a game. She clenched her fist and hit her upper-thigh. She couldn't believe how stupid about it all she'd been.

She stormed in the door, angrily slamming it behind her. He'd been sleeping. She could tell because of the way he jumped and looked at her with those eyes of his, those stupid, annoyingly attractive steel blue eyes. "Malfoy!" He jumped again and looked genuinely surprised to see her standing in the closed doorway, yelling at him much like she had in Hogwarts when he'd done something and she'd discovered it. He found in those few seconds that she looked absolutely fuckable in her anger. That thought, so out of place (and probably more than a little sinful) caused his lips to curl at the corners in an almost devilish smirk.

It didn't help his standing with Hermione, though. She thought he was only confirming what she'd thought in the first place – she was a game, and the word was out. A flush of colour rose up in her cheeks as she glared at him. "You have no right to do this to me! We're not children anymore, Malfoy! Adults don't play these games! They don't!" She didn't know whether to kick him or to cry. Both felt like they'd make her feel better, at least for a while.

At that, Draco frowned a little. Game? The only game he'd ever been playing was the one to keep her around. That was the goal. He scored points when it was her who brought him food, he'd gotten a bonus for the haircut. Beyond that… he couldn't see why she'd be all worked up about it, anyhow. Draco decided to remain silent. Somehow, he thought he wasn't the only cause of this breakdown. And having decided that much, he thought it best not to add any more of himself into the equation. He had been doing well with her, at least he'd thought so. Maybe things beneath the surface were different?

Hermione glared at him and bared her teeth. She could feel her eyes watering a bit. She wasn't sure why she felt like crying. It wasn't as if it was a huge surprise that Malfoy had been leading her along all the time. He hated her, not only for her, but because of her blood too.

Adults. Now that was something for Draco to chew on. He'd always considered himself an adult, in that usual Malfoy way. But her bringing it up in such anger made him think twice about it. When did you really become an adult? Was it a magical day that poof, you just suddenly were? Or was it more complicated than that? Draco had the feeling that it was much more complicated than that, and decided that it probably wouldn't be wise to voice his thoughts on that right at this moment.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Granger." Finally deciding that the silence had stretched on for too long, he made some sort of comment to her, gave her a reaction of some sort that she seemed to want so much.

It only made her more irritated. Her fists were clenched by her side, curled with her nails pressing into her palms. She didn't know why it frustrated her so, to think that it was all a game to him. "Of course you do, Malfoy! Sleeping with me? Why the hell would you want to sleep with me? I'm a filthy mudblood, remember? This is all a game to you! Do you want out? Is that what you want? Here, fine!" Hermione wasn't thinking very clearly. She threw the door open and left it. "Get out, Malfoy. I'm tired of your games, and, and you, I'm just tired of you!" Really, it was everything. Ginny being pregnant, Hagrid coming back, Voldemort dying, Remus changing, her changing… it was a lot of things. But she couldn't yell at those other things as well, and she was more inclined to take it out on Draco anyhow. She spun on her heel and left, walking down the hall with her chin held high and her jaw clenched.

Draco stayed where he was, his shallow breaths the only indication that he was still alive. He was stone-still, stuck. He couldn't move. Freedom. The word rang in his head as a whispered promise, something he'd only dreamed of in the past few weeks. He licked his lips, nervously glancing out into the hallway. He knew it was unlikely that he would manage to get from his prison outside, but it was tempting. The thoughts of after haunted him though. Where would he go? Who would want him? The other side of the war had surely cast him out, and this side… well, neither wanted him. He was in the middle, pulled to neither side.

For as long as Draco could remember, it had been Voldemort, or Potter. There had never been an in-between. The thought of trying to find middle ground, of trying to be happy not fighting for something… that scared him more than anything else.

Part of him was amused by the way he remained still. Why wasn't he running? Why wasn't he doing something, at the very least? This was his life, still. He wasn't owned by Voldemort, or the Order. He still had his sanity, still had many things. Why should he let them dictate it any more?

He was up and out the door as soon as the thoughts came rushing into his head. He felt like they were spinning around too quickly for him to keep up. He only knew that this freedom wasn't going to last. He spilt the water Hermione had left him as he stood up, pulling at his pants that were still falling off his hips. His legs revolted against the sudden movements, tossing him against the wall as he stumbled a bit, trying to find a way to steady himself. He was leaning against the cracking wallpaper, pieces of the dry and dusty material showering onto his head, tracing down his back. He shivered but kept going, trying to figure out how he was going to manage to escape. He had no wand and his legs could barely hold him. He'd spent too much time in the corner, not wanting to move, to feel, to breathe. He closed his eyes and tried to steady himself, mentally begging his legs to stop shaking. Just a little bit. Freedom is so close, he thought to himself desperately. So close. He needed this, more than ever, he needed to be free. He couldn't stand another day in those damn four walls with the same stones and that same heavy door with the little window and having nothing to look forward to… except Granger.

When he came upon her, two emotions rushed over him in such a wave that he shook more. One part of him so wanted to pity to her, to care for her, to help her. The other… wanted to kick her while she was down. Down and crying, it didn't matter to him. His anger only wanted revenge. It wasn't going to rationalize. Eventually, the pity won out. His legs also had given up on him for the most part and were shaking like small children on speed – he just couldn't stop them.

He didn't hug her, didn't move to touch her. Draco wasn't in a touchy-feel mood, and he didn't feel like pushing it on Granger anyways. He just watched her, breathing heavily, strands of hair tapering over his eyes, his mouth parted as he tried to get enough air into his lungs. She was curled up and crying. Draco remembered this scene.

It'd happened before, with girls Voldemort had held prisoner. When they first arrived. They'd curl like that into the corner, into the wall, furthest from the door, hold their knees, and cry. Draco hadn't understood it. He still didn't, but seeing Granger in that position was like a gulp of icy water. They'd done that, to real people. They'd killed them, tortured them – and they'd enjoyed it. Draco swallowed hard. He hadn't wanted to enjoy it, he'd tried not to. It just hadn't seemed real. None of the girls had seemed real.

But Granger did.

"Dear Merlin, what have we done?" Draco's whisper was accentuated by his head falling against the wall as he leaned back. What had the world come to? What had he come to?

Hermione sniffed a little and wiped her nose across her sleeve, pulling the ends up over her fingers as she curled tighter. She didn't consciously move to lean against him – it just sort of happened. But it was all right, because he didn't push her away like he had when they'd escaped from his manor. It felt okay. For the time being.

Draco was busy living his guilt over and over again. He could still remember the first girl. He remembered her very well. Adalia. She'd been such a pretty girl, big blue eyes and long dark hair. Her mother was a muggle. He'd talked to her, he'd coaxed trust out of her. Then he twisted it against her and bent it to his own uses. He groaned a little, remembering it all in a wave. His stomach was revolting, the combination of the obscene amount of food he'd eaten combined with the regret. She'd begged him the entire time, the entire fucking time. And he'd stood there, stone-still, and watched. And when she was dead… those big blue eyes, those beautiful oval blue eyes… they stared at him. Only him. Draco pushed Hermione away as he lunged to the side, hurling without any conscious thought. It just came, the awful feeling in his stomach, it came bubbling up. He was on his side, breathing heavily, gasping. His eyes were closed, and he knew he hadn't aimed very well. But he didn't care. All he could think of was Adalia's eyes, her whimpers.

He'd never talked to another one after that. Never tried to comfort her. Never tried to befriend them, and never learned their names, if he could avoid it. He didn't want to care, to feel. He didn't want to notice.

Hermione had no idea what he was thinking about, why he'd suddenly puked. Her anger had sufficiently died and drifted off though, seeing him like he was. She watched him for a second, the proud heir of the Malfoy family, crumpled in a ball on the floor with his stomach contents all over the floor.

She laughed.

The wizard world was going to shit and here she was, crying over Malfoy. "Oh what fools we are," she murmured to herself quietly as she moved to help Malfoy. Her wand helped her clean up his mess and after that was done, she helped him up. "C'mon Malfoy."

Draco didn't pay attention to where they were going. He knew it wasn't back to where he'd been before. He could tell that much. His stomach was still rolling and he just didn't trust it. He remained silent and compliant as they made their way through the winding, dark halls. Finally, they reached a room. Hermione got him to the bed and pushed him onto it. Draco's legs were still shaking and his nose was running for some reason. He wiped his arm across it as he laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He could hear Granger puttering about, mumbling spells under her breath. When he glanced up, propping himself up on his elbows, he saw that the layers of dust had been removed, at least a little, from the room. It was a good sized room, with a large old-style canopy bed pushed up against one wall. He could see a bathroom off to one side, and two large windows graced the furthest wall. Curtains, a pale, faded royal red were partially covering them, but the grime on the windows didn't let much light through anyhow. There was an old fireplace in the corner which had caved in on itself some time back, from the looks of it. The walls were far from classy – the bottom half a rich red and the top half a pale cream colour with black strips and some paisley pattern decorating it. Draco surely wasn't about to tip the decorator, but from his last keeping, this felt like a mansion.

Hermione was still going around the room and adding touches here and there. She'd actually thought about moving him to this room a while back – it'd just never panned out. She sifted through the clothing in the old dresser. She'd had to fish a boggart out of it before she could do anything else, and that'd taken most of the day she'd devoted to the room. She finally found the items she was looking for and tossed them at Draco. A whole new set of clean clothing was before him and Draco couldn't believe his eyes.

He changed, not caring what Hermione thought or did. He was so happy to have clean socks – were they always this soft? – that he didn't even put a thought to it. Hermione turned, picking at her nails. Curiosity was picking at her. What had made Malfoy react like that? She couldn't remember a time when she'd seen him break. And he'd broken back there, about something. But what? She chewed a nail absently, finally turning back around. Draco was just buttoning the shirt up, and a rather large piece of skin was still visible. An old bruise, faded and still ugly, peered out at her, soon hidden by Draco's buttoning. Hermione sighed a bit in her head, tiredly. She was going to miss his chest. As if suddenly realizing what she'd just thought, Hermione blushed and turned away from him, going into the bathroom to check it over once more.

"I thought you'd like a change of scenery." She didn't bother bringing up what had happened back there. It wasn't worth it right now. When her anger had wafted away, so had her energy. She felt drained and more than anything wanted to curl up with a good book and forget about all the things going on for a time being.

Draco peered into the bathroom before entering. It was small – enough so that they were almost touching. Hermione coughed a little and moved away, towards the tub, trying to get away from him. He followed, relentless in his pursuit. He didn't like how uneasy he felt, now that she'd seen him like… that. Only Blaise had ever been privy to what had gone on behind the scenes with Draco. "Thank you." It seemed genuine, and that surprised Hermione.

Finally deciding that she didn't like being pressed into a corner with him, she cleared her throat and wiggled out, cringing at all the touching she had to do just to get out of the cramped area. "You're welcome," she muttered under her breath before escaping the area. Free of him, she turned, finding that he'd moved to stand, on still shaky legs, in the doorway, one shoulder resting against it as casually as anything.

Draco didn't like how much effort it took to stand, but he was determined to change that. He'd let himself slip, and he knew there was something to live for. There had to be, he thought to himself. Hermione, finally becoming too awkward to stand it, mumbled some excuse and then exited quickly. Draco listened to the click of the lock and looked to the bed. His façade done for the time, he made his way unsteadily to the bed, falling onto it with a sigh. His stomach still felt sour and his mouth felt… icky. He shrugged off the feelings and tried instead to concentrate on the wonderful feeling of clean clothing and the bed under him.

Later… he would take a bath. A very long, very hot bath. He sighed in contentment, feeling for the first time in a while, that things were looking up for him.

A/N: So, there it is. I did write this last part very late at night, so if it's... screwy, sorry. xX;; Take care all, and enjoy. 33 I start my new job tomorrow. Wish me luck.


	9. You hope I don't make a sound

Chapter Nine -- You hope I don't make a sound 

Draco did get his long hot bath later, and it was just as delectable as he'd anticipated it would be. He'd lounged in the water, massaging his legs, until the water had gone cold. Then, he drew up another bath while still sitting in it, still smirking faintly to himself as he went about it. He would bathe at least twice a day for the next few years, he thought to himself. His hair was no longer stringy, and was instead fluffy and soft. Draco sighed softly and sunk into the new hot water. His eyes slipped closed, and he drifted.

When he finally emerged from the water, his limbs were rather pruny, but he didn't mind. He felt clean and happier for it. His new quarters had provided him with some weird things to read, his own personal bathroom, and a bed. He almost had problems sleeping on it, but it was possible. His body was so used to being curled up, that it felt strange to be lying flat on the bed to sleep.

Draco forced himself to walk around the room. He was not very keen on feeling like an invalid. And he was determined to get out if the chance presented itself again. Which it just might, he thought to himself hopefully.

He hadn't seen Hermione for days. Draco was doing his morning regime of walking and stretching when he heard the knock on the door. Wood had brought him his meals the past few times, and had seemed more than a little dismayed that Draco actually looked like he was doing well. His clothing still hung on him strangely, tilted on his thin frame like he was nothing more than a scarecrow in a fat farmer's clothing. Draco had ignored him. At the knock though, he looked up from his stretch. He was touching his toes, with effort, almost having his palms on the floor. Wood never knocked.

When Hermione slinked in like she'd been caught doing something wrong, Draco smirked at her. So she returns. She had food for him, and that was even better. As long as he kept eating and moving, he could feel the difference in his legs. It wasn't terribly exciting, but it was nice when he lay in bed at night, prodding at them, and he could feel muscle there that hadn't been so obvious the nights before. It gave him a purpose. And right now, Draco needed a purpose.

"Oliver said you were doing well," Hermione offered awkwardly. She didn't mention that Oliver (and the rest of the Order) had been irritated that she'd moved his location without consulting them first. Hermione had finally worked it out, and all was well yet again. Or as well as it got in the household, anyhow. She was glad that they hadn't reacted too harshly to her change.

She silently set the plate of food on the end table and left it, moving to sit in the chair by the door, watching as Draco finished his stretching and moved to the food. Hermione didn't know where this was going – this little thing she and Draco had. It almost felt like trust, but it was different. She bit her lip and frowned a little at him, watching as he picked over the food, eating what he liked best first.

After Draco finished eating, he ignored Hermione. He was finishing up the last part of the workout he'd made for himself, and didn't want her talking. She'd just be distracting anyhow.

Hermione watched as he moved, her back slouching against the chair as her thoughts drifted and the silence extended. She could wait. She wasn't sure how to word it all, anyways.

* * *

Blaise smacked the bed as he growled at himself before it finally faded into a low whimper. Draco disappearing hadn't been good for Blaise. He'd felt like someone had pulled his stomach out from him and left a gaping hole there. Trying to fill it with food made it worse, and crying never helped. And Zabini's didn't cry, anyways. He shook off the whimpering, clenching his teeth. People had for the most part given up on Draco.

The first few days after him and the Granger girl disappeared, Blaise had been questioned frantically. Lucius had been in a right fury, sweeping through the castle and adjoining areas in a fiery anger. He'd taken some of it out on Blaise, in his spare time, just to make sure Blaise didn't know anything about Draco's whereabouts.

It'd been Blaise's turn to crawl back to the room and puke. But this time, there was no one there to help him clean up. He was alone. And boy, did he feel it. He rolled over in bed, tossing the blankets and kicking at them anxiously. He should've been able to contact Draco. When Draco had been dressing the early morning that Hermione had been brought in, Blaise had been the one shuffling clothing to him. He'd gotten Blaise's shirt, not his own. Blaise had spelled his shirts with a particular sort of magic that was more than a little traceable. It had been particularly useful for the stands and the nights when he came awake not really all there. A simple spell on parchment, and a location was given, or a map. Something to indicate its whereabouts.

Blaise was meticulously clean. He liked things neat and in order in his room. He knew he was missing a shirt, and he knew he'd put it on Draco. Draco often accumulated many of his pieces of clothing since they were close enough in size and build to exchange clothing. Draco had more common pieces, while Blaise's collection was always much fancier. It saved them trips to the tailor, which was an awfully good thing since neither man could stand it.

Blaise turned over again. Though he'd thought the spell would be great to keep track of his clothing, he'd never used it quite as much as he thought he would. And now that he needed it, it seemed that it didn't work. He'd tried for ages to get it to work. Nothing, never anything.

"Oh Draco, where are you?" Blaise had to keep thinking he was alive. What would he do if he wasn't? He groaned at the thought and buried his face in his pillow. Sleep, an escape. Something to take his mind off it all.

* * *

"Are you waiting for something?" Draco's pointed tone cut through Hermione's muddled thoughts like a knife through butter. She jumped a little, sitting up straighter, and blushing. She wasn't sure why she was blushing, but apparently her body felt there was some need to do so, and that was that. She wasn't really able to command it to stop, so what choice did she have?

She tried to shrug him off, but she couldn't help herself – the words just came tumbling out of her mouth, "What the hell is this, Malfoy?" She clapped her hand over her mouth after the words had came out. She felt betrayed by her own curiosity. Why did she have to say that? What if it was only her who thought there was anything to this? Hermione turned her eyes away, staring at the floor.

Draco's arrogant expression faded significantly at that. He frowned a little, biting his lower lip. He was sitting on the bed. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back and it made him feel all goosebump-y. More than anything he wanted a bath, but he hadn't felt all at ease with Granger still in his room, looking like she wanted something. But what, that was the question. His eyebrows scrunched together and he looked up at her, shrugging lightly. "Probably nothing." Typical Malfoy aloofness. His tone suggested that it probably was all just her, and even if it wasn't just her, it wasn't something that Draco was going to care about. He made at least that much obvious.

Hermione blushed more and stood up angrily, her hands clenched at her side. "It's damn well something, and don't you dare pretend you haven't noticed!" She couldn't stand him. How self-assured he'd been ever since she'd moved his keeping to a more livable place. He acted as though none of the things had happened – none of those… stupid Malfoy things. She wasn't going to let him blow this off as nothing.

It was Draco's turn to blush. He wasn't sure why, the creeping heat up his pale cheeks. His eyes flashed at her, and he cut back coolly. "What would you rather I say, hm, Granger? That there is something here? That there's something more than Stockholm taking revenge?" He turned from her, feeling almost… regretful, as he spit the words into the empty air. "I'm not quite ready to admit that, mudblood."

Hermione blanched at that. The anger seeped from her and what was left in its place was an emptiness she hadn't felt since Harry had died. The combination of his words and his actions cut at her in all the right places. How could he know just where to stab and when? How did he know exactly where it would hurt the most and how hard he could turn the knife once he'd sunk it in? She bit the inside of her cheek – hard – in an effort to not let her expression change.

But he wasn't looking at her anyhow.

Hermione didn't have anything to say – what was there to say? That she thought there was something, a glimmer of something at least? She blinked her eyes and tried to twist her lips into a smile, and wound up somewhere between a grimace and a smirk. So be it.

She left, slamming the door behind her. It had to all be in her head, that much was obvious by now. The kissing, the words, they'd all been a game. And Malfoy was done with the game, so now he no longer needed her. There was no reason for flattery or promises or flirting. He'd gotten what he'd wanted, it seemed.

Hermione didn't give Remus a chance to reply when she entered the bedroom. He was sitting in 'his' chair reading. The tired worn look was more apparent than usual in the lighting, the grey streaks shining, making him all the more refined. Hermione sat on his lap, pulling the book away, and kissed him.

"I want sex. Now." It wasn't the most eloquent, and in all honesty, it probably wasn't the hottest thing she could've said, but for little Hermione, it was a large step.

Remus looked bewildered. They'd been on the verge of breaking up and now she wanted to sleep with him? She hadn't let him get near her for weeks… When she kissed him again, her hands on the side of his face, he suddenly found that the urge to say 'no' had rather diminished.

Out of her clothes, under the blankets, under Remus, her hand tangled in his hair and her eyes squeezed tight, she knew there was something with Draco. No matter what he said. No matter how he acted. And she would break him. She would rival Voldemort if she had to, but dear merlin, she needed something, anything really, to live for.

She'd figure it out, eventually. Hermione could play just as well as Draco.

* * *

Draco flopped onto his bed. He'd taken a quiet, solemn bath. His hair was wet and tangled still since he'd only ran his fingers through it, passing the brushing thing in favor of curling up in his bed. He pulled the blankets up, tugging them around him until he was wrapped in warmth. He exhaled slowly, his eyes closing as he let his thoughts drift.

Foremost on his mind was Granger, of course. Somehow, in the span of months that'd he'd been held captive, Granger had become his world. On good days, he could remember Blaise's face, how he felt. On bad days, nothing came to him about the boy. The world that he'd lived in, the world that he'd _owned_ was fading from his mind. And all that he could think about, that he could recall clearly, was the face of Granger. Sometimes with her eyebrows pulled together and her lower lip pouting. Or her blushing and angry, or her eyes wide and surprised… and those days when she was so dead on her feet she barely noticed him.

Draco rolled over and pulled at the rather limp pillow. He stuffed it under his head, trying to fluff it up, and stared at the grimy windows. After Granger had left, he'd felt an overwhelming wave of regret. He was fervently trying to console himself. It wasn't that big of a deal. There couldn't be anything more to him and Granger. It just wasn't decent.

He picked at a nail, absently, his eyes staring blankly at the window, his knees pulled up to his chest.

But why couldn't he? It wasn't as if anyone would know that he'd done something with her. And the random flashes of a sex drive were starting to become more annoying than they had been before. He tucked a hand under his head and sighed. What did it matter? In all reality, she'd probably avoid him for weeks to come because of his last statements to her. He scowled. Why did things have to be so complicated?

* * *

Hermione's plan of action was simple and amazingly daring. At least for her.

She was going to seduce Draco Malfoy.

It was a scary idea, all right. Hermione had never seduced anyone in her life, and trying to think of herself as seductive was hard enough. But she'd reasoned it out, and she didn't actually need to think of herself as sexy and playful. She just had to convince Draco that she was. She bit her lip, looking in the mirror. She was subtle, probably too subtle. She snorted to herself. Draco liked to have things obvious, it kept them simple. But she wasn't going to be obvious. Hermione probably didn't even know how to be obvious. The whole flirting thing was fairly novel to her, overall.

She was wearing a blouse. Buttons were good, right? She eyed herself as she twirled in the mirror. Dark blue blouse, red bra, pants. She'd wanted to wear a skirt, but she'd chickened out. She twisted about in front of the mirror a couple more times. Out of nervous habit, she chewed at a nail as she stared into the mirror, analyzing herself.

Remus had been exceedingly friendly ever since she'd pulled him into bed. It wasn't really a bad thing, but it was sort of a relief. He was no longer following her around moping, trying to figure out what was wrong with her.

When she started to Draco's rooms, she almost turned around exactly 21.5 times. The .5 of course belonging to the time where she only thought about it. The other 21 times were when she'd turned around and taken a few steps back to her own rooms before steeling herself and finally getting to Draco's room.

She hadn't worn makeup. She felt silly wearing it, especially in the middle of a war, and the thought of trying to put it on herself was intimidating. Hermione had never learned the finer techniques of applying makeup, and she didn't think this was a time to start trying. And she didn't want to be obvious. Most of all, that was what she dreaded. If Draco figured it out. What if he laughed at her?

Hermione didn't think she had the guts for this. She could feel butterflies trying to escape her stomach already. This is stupid, she thought to herself for the hundredth time. He won't fall for it. And if he does, I'm still sleeping with the enemy…

She pushed the thoughts from her brain as best she could and knocked. After a second, she opened the door. The small offering of food she held seemed to be the only thing helping her keep her ground. Draco didn't really acknowledge her. He was lounging in a chair, reading a dusty old book. Dust lined his clothing in neat little stacks that built up steadily as he turned the pages. He grunted at her and continued to read, seemingly absorbed by the book.

That was when Hermione really started to panic. She set the food down and glanced at the chair she always sat in. She should turn right around and leave. That's what she should do. She was just putting her hand to the door knob when Malfoy spoke, a challenge in his voice, "Leaving so soon, Granger?" He was teasing her, and she could tell. She turned back to him, clearing her throat.

"I-I have plans." Lie.

"Oh really?"

"Yes. With…with Remus." Lie.

Draco raised his eyebrows at her, and stood up, swaggering over to retrieve the food. Hermione watched him as he picked through it, grunting at certain things and popping other tidbits into his mouth. Hermione could smell him. He had a rather distinctive smell. Different from Remus'. She watched him, not moving from her spot, which was now not very far from Draco.

He glanced up at her, his eyes accusing. "You're lying very poorly tonight, Granger."

Draco didn't mind lying. It just bothered him when Granger did it. She didn't really have a reason to lie to him about much. It wasn't like he really saw anyone but her, and he wasn't exactly going anywhere.

Hermione's temper flared at his picking on her, and she shoved at his shoulder. "I don't have to tell you the truth, Malfoy. You won't tell me the truth." She stopped there, still glaring at him.

Draco's eyes flashed a bit, and he finally shrugged at her. Didn't really matter, did it? It's just Granger… though he did admit her top was rather nice tonight. Nice change, he thought as his eyes flicked down her and back to her eyes in a casual manner. "Truth is over-rated." He picked over the food once more, before turning completely to face Hermione, his eyes curious. "Who're you all dressed up for, hm? Is Wood really that lucky these days? I never really saw him as your type, in all honesty… but I suppose you prefer heroes, don't you?" It was a stab, sure, but he was good at stabbing people. Especially when they stood so close to him.

Hermione slapped him. She was surprised at how much her hand stung as she lowered it to her side. What did she ever see in him, anyhow? She was lying to herself. He could never be anything more than cruel, selfish, backstabbing Malfoy. And that was that.

Draco grabbed her arm, the slap stinging and surprising all at once. He squeezed his fingers, glaring down at her. Hermione bared her teeth at him, her eyes and posture defying. "I can dress up just for myself, Malfoy. It's none of your business."

Draco stared hard at her, looking down at her to do so. "You know what I think, Granger?" His voice was low and almost… dangerous. "I think we're playing on a field where neither of us belong. I think it's more hurt than it's worth." He squeezed her arm harder, "So who did you dress up for, little Granger?"

Hermione knew she was the one in charge here. She knew she had the power and the wand and the key to his door, to his world… but he was the dominant one at the moment, and Hermione was a pack animal at heart. She looked down, trying to squirm away, trying to get away from his eyes, staring at her so assured. Like he already knew but had to hear her say it. His words had startled her. Her own answer almost startled her just as much. She swallowed hard, and finally whispered hoarsely, "You, Malfoy."

The blunt truth, out for her to see. And it was what she'd thought all along. Though she'd been right, it wasn't as satisfying as she'd thought it'd be.

Draco let go of her arm and turned from her, stalking across the room. He stood by the window, his whole body tense. His arms were crossed across his chest and his brow was drawn. Hermione's legs felt like jello and she was afraid to move from the door. She was afraid her legs wouldn't hold her.

"It would never work, Granger! It just wouldn't." He turned to her, his words filled with the despair that had been eating at the sides of his thoughts for weeks. His feelings, stupid stupid feelings, were pulling him in a direction he could never go. No matter how much he hated his father, how much he loathed the bastard and all that his name stood for, there was no way he could do that sort of thing with Granger. It was Granger, for god's sake! The know it all little brownnoser from Hogwarts… the head of the Order of the Phoenix… There were just too many conflicting titles, too many conflicting things.

Hermione swallowed and leaned against the door for support, her eyes slipping closed. The best thing about a fantasy was that there was always the chance, she thought to herself. But when you take the chance away… what's left? She sighed jaggedly and opened her eyes, watching Draco.

He seemed further away than he ever had before. For the past few months, the tentative trust that'd formed between them had given her something to feel, to care about. Maybe Hermione had been fooling herself the entire time. She bit her lip and brushed her hair back from her eyes.

"Malfoy… I…" She didn't know how to say it. That she didn't care. She knew she would regret it later, but having him admit there was something there… She wanted to jump up and down with job that she hadn't been wrong. That she had in fact spotted it and called it for what it was.

Draco was having his own moral crisis. There was more to this than just them. This was a whole bloody revolution. "This isn't something we can work around, Granger. Things are… the way they are." His voice sounded pained. As if he didn't want things to be the way they were, as it he almost… regretted it. Hermione was trembling. Every inch of her wanted desperately to touch him. But part of her was still screaming. This was stupid, stupid and wrong. Merlin, it was wrong… and how she wanted it.

"Well I hate the way things are, Malfoy, so I'll be damned if I'll live by those constraints!" Hermione stuck her chin out defiantly, her legs still feeling like watery blobs of nothing. Her heart was beating so fast she could hear it ringing in her ears, the blood singing to her as it surged about. The adrenaline rush was worth it, to say those words. To finally accept without a doubt that she _hated_ her life. That she hated the war and she wanted out. She wanted an escape.

He could feel his defense crumbling. Draco could feel it shuddering away and fading and he could feel his body trembling. She was beautiful, when she was angry. Just like the last time, when she'd thought it'd been a game. Maybe he should've left it as a game. He swallowed and held his gaze steady on her. "What if they find out? What if I tell them?"

Hermione took a deep breath at his second question. He could. If Wood came to give him food, if something happened. What happened if they found out? She exhaled jaggedly and closed her eyes. "They wouldn't trust me anymore. Probably lock me up. Think I'm insane… know I'm insane." She stared at the floor. The reality of what would happen if they found out came crashing down on her. She panicked, turning around and scrambling for the door knob. She had to get out, before anything stupid could happen. Before she made the second biggest mistake of her life.

She didn't know he could move so fast. That he could be there, his arms around her, pushing her against the wall and his lips on her neck. "Stay." His body was warm against hers, a sudden heat source there behind her, chasing tingles up her spine.

There had been no question in his statement. It was a demand. And Hermione was more than willing to oblige.

She gasped a little as his hand slid up her shirt. So much for buttons, she thought to herself, a little hazy from the sudden events. "Malfoy-" Hermione herself wasn't even sure what she was going to say. But whatever it had been, Draco kissed away as he turned her around. She had always known he'd be a good kisser – ever since her run in with him at the ball. But living through him and Blaise was nothing compared to the real thing.

She whimpered a little and finally gave in, diving head first into something she'd claimed to never do. Hermione Granger gave into lust.

A/N: My laptop hates me, really, it does. So this is my last update before it goes bye-bye. So enjoy. Hopefully I'll have tons written out on paper by the time they send it back, right? Hopefully the chapter doesn't bounce around too much. 33 for the people who review, and 33 for those who don't. Take care! PS: work hell sometimes  



	10. My Blue Eyed Saviour

Chapter Ten – My Blue Eyed Savior

It was Draco moving that woke her up. She glanced blearily at him from her half-awake state and mumbled some sound to indicate a question. Draco muttered 'bathroom' in return and slipped from the bed.

Hermione laid her head back down on the pillow, her eyes slipping closed. She felt happier than she'd been in a long time, she had to confess. The comforting warm fuzzy feel of after-sex sleep was wearing off though, and she began to slowly come to terms with what had happened. She lay on her side, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hands clutching the blankets gently under her chin. She could remember Draco's soft touches vividly, the way his eyes seemed so much darker than usual. How his breathing had finally become labored and how he'd moaned at the end. Those were the most vivid of memories to her.

She sighed melodiously when Draco crawled back in, his hand slinking around her to pull her closer to him.

Granger had been his everything for a long time. Been the only one who cared, who was there. And now she was his in another way. He gently kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes. Draco himself felt little to no regret at all about the way things had happened. He thought they'd turned out rather well, actually.

He traced his fingertips gently over her stomach, teasing at the soft curve of a breast, and finally stopping to rest his hand on her stomach. He had nothing to lose from this. He knew that Granger, on the other hand, had a lot to lose. He was impressed by her, he had to admit. She'd done something that he'd thought she'd been incapable of for a long time – she'd taken a chance. And on him, no less. He sighed and nudged her a bit.

Hermione rolled over at her nudging and stared at him, the sleepy feeling rolling away slowly. "Hm?' Draco didn't reply and instead leaned forward to kiss her gently, his lips lingering on hers.

"How're you?" His voice startled her – the sudden noise breaking the silence and the deepness of it. She blinked at him a little, and pulled away from his embrace, stretching.

"Good." If she was actually honest with herself, she'd admit that she was panicking a bit. She'd done it. She'd done the thing she told herself she wouldn't do, no matter what. She was still having issues accepting that she had in fact slept with Draco Malfoy. And beyond that, she was having issues accepting that she'd enjoyed it. All the feelings in her were crowding around, trying to burst out. Malfoy's eyes narrowed at her reply, though he didn't indicate out loud that he was having any issues with what she was claiming. Before he could ask her another question, she was out of the bed, fumbling with her clothing.

"I-I should get back. What if Oliver comes looking for me? What if Ginny needs something? What if something goes wrong?" The guilt came crashing down on her suddenly. Whether it was due to her guilt of sleeping with Malfoy, or just from the real actions she was taking, she couldn't tell. But she had to be there. It'd been a tough birth for Ginny, and she wasn't about to let all that work go to waste.

She swallowed hard as she pulled her shirt over her head, not meeting Draco's eyes as she grabbed her pants. Hermione knew his eyes were on her. Knew they were burning into her, asking questions that she didn't want to answer. Would she come back? Of course. She couldn't let anyone else bring him his meals now, anyhow. She brushed some hair back from her face, biting her lower lip as she glanced around, making sure she had everything she had brought with her. Finally, she dared to look at him. He was watching her, just as she'd thought he would be.

Draco looked away first. So that was how it was going to be. Rolling out of the bed slowly, he stood and stretched, his back to her. Not bothering to pay any attention to her, he walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and turned on the shower. When he got into the warm water, he turned it up. The heat seared his skin a little, but it was better than nothing. Sex that had finally meant something, and it'd been one-sided. He sighed, leaning his head against the shower wall, not admitting that he was crying. She'd come back. Granger had to come back.

There was nothing left for him if she didn't come back.

Blaise was up to trouble. Again. As usual. He'd packed a bag and pulled out his detective skills. He was a worthy Slytherin in his time, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let those skills go to waste. Not when Draco was on the line. His stomach rolled a little. What if he was dead..?

He'd religiously checked the parchment. He'd skipped meals, flaked for outings, done everything possible to stay as near to the spell as possible, hoping, and praying, that something would be given to him. And last night it had. It'd only given him an address – but that had been all he needed. He was on his way, and he was confident that even if he didn't find Draco, he'd find something that lead to him, wouldn't he?

Hermione exhaled as she pushed the book away from herself, sliding it across the table as she let out another tired sigh. What was wrong with her? It was like she had a double life – a new sort of 007. She snorted softly. As if anyone in this place would understand such a comment.

* * *

She hadn't come to terms with Malfoy yet. She'd dutifully brought him his food each day, never quiet meeting his eyes as she set the tray down before leaving.

Remus was still in a strangely delirious state from the almost sex overload he'd been receiving from her. When he'd brought up children, she'd shrugged it off, saying that such things took time. She'd neglected to tell him that she'd never really stopped taking her potions; at least not for more than a day or two.

Hermione wasn't ready for children. With the Malfoy thing, too… sex with Remus was such a denial, and Hermione knew it. She pushed hair from her eyes as she stretched, moving with an eerie grace between the precarious stacks of books, her PJs making a faint noise as she moved. Brushing the dust from her pants, Hermione made her way further into the mansion, leaving the library behind.

Winter had come suddenly.

For Ginny though, it had come slowly. It hadn't taken Hermione long to confirm what she'd suspected all along: Ginny was having twins. Fred and George were ecstatic, to say the least. Ginny's last month or so of pregnancy had caused a stir in the dead old house. The place was a buzz with excitement. Arthur, finally informed, was pleased as peas, though it was easy to tell he missed his wife sorely.

Hermione could relate to that.

Ever since she'd denied herself Draco's attention, she'd felt something in her stutter and steadily drown. Denial, as she'd found, was a rather stifling emotion.

Remus was out on a watch at the moment. They'd taken to patrolling the general area, hoping to catch and unsuspecting dark wizard on duty. Arthur was with him, since Oliver had been 'forced' to stay with Ginny instead of doing his nightly watch.

Hermione was exhausted. She felt like she'd just closed her eyes when frantic knocking caused her eyes to pop open. The building fairly shook from the sound of it. "Hermione! It's Oliver – Ginny – she-she-pain!"

Hermione bolted awake. She was stumbling out the door, a shirtless and barely coherent Oliver doggedly following her as she made her way calmly to Ginny's room. She was prepared – there was no need to worry.

Three and a half hours later, she was worried. It had been a hard labor, and neither of the twins had made it out yet. Arthur was worrying himself sick, going on and on as he paced about how Molly had never had any problems with the twins.

Hermione wiped her forehead, feeling a sickening swath of blood left behind. She gagged for a moment and swallowed hard. Ginny was so… petite. There was no way these babies could be coming out of her friend, this wonderful woman who she'd grown up with. It just wasn't feasible.

After all the blood, the hours of straining, Hermione got the breached child turned. A while later, Ginny's first daughter, Inara, was born.

Hermione hated the way Ginny's breathing hitched, the way she whimpered after each contraction. When Ginny had gone on about her baby's life over her own, Hermione had dismissed the idea. She would forfeit the child's life for her friend – she wouldn't live with herself any other way.

Finally, Annaliese was born, a lusty squeal announcing her arrival. Ginny held each before Hermione whisked them away, forcing tea and rest on her friend as Oliver got to meet his daughters. She knew it was possible they'd lose Ginny. She'd lost a lot of blood… trying not to think on it, Hermione washed the blood off her hands and arms. Ginny was keeping tea down, and she was breathing better. Oliver had agreed to do the last bit of cleanup, freeing Hermione from any more huge chores. For the time being, Oliver sat close to the bed, letting Inara and Annaliese tug at Ginny's fingers as she smiled weakly.

As her mind drifted, her feet moved her slowly along. It took her a moment to realize where she'd ended up. When she arrived though, she knew it was right. Life was precious, and oh-so-fragile.

And she was wasting hers.

Draco had barely registered the knock before his door opened. He had been asleep, but ever since he'd heard the baby cry (such a foreign sound to him), he'd been unable to return to such a peaceful existence.

So he was lying on his bed, book in hand, pale eyebrows arched at Hermione. He was shocked as it was – she didn't have food, and there was no other logical reason for her to be standing there. Not that Draco was complaining, not in the least. The few awkward moments as she'd dropped off his food had never satisfied any of his needs, other than the obvious hunger one.

Hermione met his eyes for a second before looking away again. The last month had been hell. Day, night, nothing mattered. Granger had cut him off from everything – her, life, being. The books had helped the solitude and monotony, but nothing had helped the loneliness that ate at him. He woke in cold sweats, his body rigid and his head full of… her.

And now here she was. He licked his lips nervously.

* * *

"I-I'm sorry." When Draco said nothing, Hermione took that as a sign to continue on. "I… took advantage of you, of our… situation. And I'm sorry." She opened her mouth to say something else, then closed it again, having found no sounds emerging.

Draco watched her, one eyebrow rising as he asked her curiously, "Just when did I give the impression I wasn't willing?"

Hermione felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. "You didn't need to. I had a responsibility and I failed."

Draco laughed sharply at her as he shook his head, setting the book on the bed. "Granger, I never do anything because I 'have to'."

Her blush deepened before her gaze turned into a scowl. "How do you manage to make me feel so stupid?"

Draco flashed her a fool hardy grin: "Pure charm and dazzle, darlin'." As he spoke, he moved closer to her, putting a hand of either side of her face, cupping her cheek and jaw as he delicately kissed her. With a sigh, Hermione leaned into him, muttering his name against his lips. I"ve missed you." His voice was low and warm next to her ear.

"I've missed you too."

There it was, a confession – out in the open where neither of them could ignore it.

Draco wanted to cry with happiness – she'd missed him. Enough to come back to him for at least a moment, to let him hold her… his arms wrapped around her waist, his palms flat against her back. The chaste and gentle kiss soon turned more passionate as Hermione slid her arms around his neck, clasping her fingers together at his nape. She'd said she'd missed him because it sounded right to say back. But if Hermione was to be completely truthful, she had missed him. She had ached to feel him up against her.

Even now, self-conscious in her PJs and all, she wanted him. She couldn't help but think that it was only because he was denied to her that she wanted him so badly. Forbidden fruit. But maybe… a small spark of romanticism in her wouldn't let the hope that it was something real die out.

Draco's fingers lifted off her shirt with the utmost care, treating her and the shirt as if they would shatter at any moment. Once the shirt was tossed away, his lips and fingertips traced softly over her skin.

Perfect, was all Draco could think. Her skin was soft, her cheeks faintly flushed, eyes closed partly as she moaned against him.

It seemed there were in a sea of clothing that finally changed to blankets, and eventually, bliss.

In the languid aftermath, Hermione thought her options over. How could she keep a man whom she cared about – loved, perhaps – in exile? No matter how much gold gilded the frame, a cage was still a cage; she knew that best of all.

The greedy, needful side of her considered it great. Here he was, whenever she wanted or needed him. Right where she could find him, no matter what.

But Hermione knew the guild would keep coming, worse and worse.

And Remus… she sighed, pulling from Draco's embrace. The situation was exactly the same as the last time. Just, this time around, she couldn't run and she couldn't let it pass.

Draco watched her leave with a cold sense of dread in his stomach. He knew she had to tend to the Weasley girl, and he knew she couldn't be gone too long without it becoming conspicuous.

But… he wanted her. More than anything. More than Blaise, even.

It didn't exist. Well, it couldn't, at least.

* * *

Blaise stood before the two houses, his eyes checking the paper and the building number. Frustrated, he lifted his pack over his shoulder and walked up to where the house should've been.

Muttering as he went, he didn't even realize as Remus snuck up behind him, the muttered hex garbled as he suddenly felt himself falling.

Then everything was black.

* * *

A/N: Hi. I'm alive. Here's an update. I bought a laptop. Should be updating now and then. Going to finish the five drunk fic thing to get my muse kicking into life. Welcome back to me!


	11. You hope that nobody knows

Chapter Eleven – You hope that nobody knows

"How the hell should I know how he found this place?" Draco gestured wildly with his hand as he glared at Hermione. Ever since Blaise had stumbled upon their lair, Draco had been in the spotlight again.

"You were sleeping with him!" Hermione blushed at her words, averting her gaze from his. It burned her throat to say such things, but it was true. And if she didn't get his answers, then Oliver or Arthur would, and that would mean more bruises, broken bones, more tears… at least for Hermione.

"Are you jealous?" Draco's voice was dangerously low as he walked towards her, cornering her against the bed. The frame hit at Hermione's knees as she swallowed hard, trying to avoid looking at him.

"No," she managed to whisper.

Draco snorted at her, turning, and running a hand through his hair. "Can I see him?"

"No!" Hermione shouted before thinking. Clapping her hand over her mouth, her cheeks flaming, she looked at the floor. "You know the others are talking to him."

It was Draco's turn to flush, but this time from irritation. "There's not much talking involved in what they're doing, Granger."

Hermione flinched. That was the first time in a long time that he'd called her Granger. She licked her lips nervously and shrugged. "I can't get him out of it, Draco. He found our safe house." Her eyes begged him to understand, but she knew that it was asking a lot of him as he turned from her.

"You'll take care of him?"

Hermione nodded hesitantly. "Of course." She swallowed her heart down as she left his room, quietly shutting and locking the door.

Hermione frowned as she applied a healing salve to the cut on Blaise's lip. She was frowning partially from concentration, but also from denial. There was no way she could compete with someone as gorgeous as Blaise. Even in his current state of disarray, he still looked handsome. His olive toned skin, dark eyes with long lashes, finely angled cheekbones and jaw… he was a dream.

Him and Draco would look like handsome statues next to each other, she decided as she absently packed her items away.

"Is he here?" Blaise's voice was hoarse, quiet. His eyes were on Hermione, pleading with her. "I-I couldn't stay there without him."

Avoiding his gaze, Hermione nodded curtly. "Yes."

Blaise relaxed into the wall. Hermione had hoped she'd never have reason to be in this pathetic room again, and here she was, with another capture dependent on her. She snapped her bag together and stood silently. Her hand touched Blaise's shoulder for just a second, "He's okay."

Blaise gave a content sigh. "Oh, that's good then." The half smile on his face made Hermione's stomach roll as she backed out of the room quickly.

* * *

"Now we've got two of them. I say we barter with them." Oliver buttered his toast as he glanced around at the others gathered. Ginny was there, holding Inara as Arthur held Annaliese. Rocking Inara gently, Ginny glanced up at Oliver, smiling a little.

"Don't get so excited dear." Everything about her spoke of her happiness; nothing ruffled Ginny's feathers anymore. She was happy. Hermione envied her. She had two beautiful baby girls, and a man who adored her. It was obvious by the way he looked at her. Hermione sighed.

"Draco is worthless for bartering; he deserted."

Remus gave Hermione a questioning look at her using Draco's first name, but he quickly turned his attention to Arthur. "Hermione's right. Both of them are pretty useless beyond what they know. Zabini confirmed Malfoy's earlier statements about Voldemort's soul dying." Moody grunted and eyed Oliver's toast as he bit into it.

"We ought to just cull them and be done with it, then," Moody grumbled after a minute.

Hermione blanched and gripped the arm of her chair tighter. Pulling a rein in on her emotions, she shook her head. "I don't want more blood on our hands, Moody."

Ginny nodded agreement with Hermione, her eyes raising from her daughter for a second, "But we do need to do something with them. We're putting too much time and effort into keeping them."

Hermione pushed forward the papers she'd written up earlier. "I've got a proposal for that." Oliver and Moody leaned in (Moody brushing away the crumbs from Oliver's toast as he growled) while Hermione explained. "It's a pretty basic spell. I can connect it to something as simple as a bracelet or ring or something." Oliver leaned back with a leer at Moody.

"Out with it, Hermione. We've got things to do." His gaze drifted to his daughters and Ginny.

"Keep your pants on, cowboy," Hermione mumbled as she shuffled some papers. "Here. See, you tie it to an item, put it on the person, and it acts like a built in cage almost. It binds them to whatever room, building, or even country you want them to stay in. It's not really the nicest form of magic, and it's…" Hermione fumbled for a word, "darker magic."

The others squirmed a bit at her wording, but Oliver shrugged. "As long as it keeps them where we want them and gets me out of door duty, it's fine by me."

Arthur, cooing at Annaliese, looked up for a second. "Fine by me, as well." He rocked the baby in his arms.

George pulled the sheets closer, frowning. "It requires blood?"

Hermione nodded, "Part of the binding," she explained. Remus mimicked George's frown and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Is it safe?"

"As safe as sticking one of you to watch their doors," Hermione retorted a little sharper than she'd intended.

Remus leaned back at her tone, and shrugged. "Go for it."

Hermione pulled the sheaves of paper back to herself as she nodded. "I'll get right on it." She shuffled from the common room, back to the library. There was a couple of things she'd need for this to work.

* * *

"Okay, give me your wrist."

Draco held out his wrist with a bored look as Hermione tied a piece of twine around his wrist. Referencing her papers, she repeated the incantation over the string before pricking her and Draco's finger with a needle. Draco flinched a little (she supposed she should've told him she was going to do that) but he quickly recovered and served her with a glare.

"All right." Dabbing her blood and Draco's on a piece of cloth, she stepped back from him. Holding the cloth in one hand, she passed Draco a pair of scissors. "Try to cut it."

Draco held the scissors as he carefully slid them under the bracelet. No matter how many times he hacked at the piece of twine, it stayed firmly in one piece. Scowling, Draco held up the scissors. "Well, that's not going to work," he commented dryly, showing off the dents in the scissors.

Standing next to the door, Hermione mumbled a few words, and swiped the cloth with their blood on it over the entrance to Draco's room. Taking a few steps out, she looked at him. "Come out if you can." She flashed him a vaguely suggestive grin.

Draco raised an eyebrow and took a step towards her. With a curse, he rubbed his forehead. He stopped dead at the doorway. Crossing his arms, he rolled his eyes at her. "Show off."

Hermione smiled again and walked out of Draco's line of vision. She returned not long afterwards, rubbing the slightly dirty cloth over his doorway again. With a few words she was done, and she invited him out. "You have your room, this hallway, the common room, and the kitchen." Swallowing, she steeled herself. "And Blaise's room."

Draco's eyes met hers at the last. He hadn't seen Blaise yet. "He's down the hall," she murmured softly before turning. She wouldn't look at him, as she took a deep breath. "I'll do the same for him tomorrow. I'm too tired tonight." It was an excuse, and they both knew it, as Hermione walked down the hall to her room.

When the door squeaked shut, Draco paused. Cautiously, expecting a solid wall yet again, he took a step out into the hallway.

It was the most exhilarating thing he'd done in weeks. With his spirits lifting oh-so-slightly, Draco turned down the hall to finally face Blaise.

* * *

A/N: Welcome back from the dead, dear old story. How I've missed you. Longer updates forthcoming.


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